


An ever fixed mark

by embracelouis



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Getting Back Together, Hand Jobs, Lots of Angst, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Nemma, Oral Sex, liam is in this a bit I swear, mentions of depression, nouis too, zarry are the bestest friends here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-28
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-04-28 02:11:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 33,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5073487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/embracelouis/pseuds/embracelouis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i> “Why are you calling me, Louis?” He doesn't wait for an answer before he adds, “Did Zayn tell you? Or was it Niall? Gemma must know by now too, great.”</i><br/><i> “It doesn't matter who told me, I just want to know if you're alright.”</i><br/><i> “It's none of your business.” Harry's tone is harsher than he intended. He hears a sharp intake of breath on the other line, then a long sigh.</i><br/><i> “I know.” Louis sounds resigned, and Harry is half surprised, half disappointed that he is giving up so easily. “I am just worried Harry. You're not, like, hurt right?”</i><br/><i> “I am tougher than you all seem to think and honestly, I don't want to be having this conversation with you right now. Goodbye Louis.”</i> <br/>-<br/>Or,<br/>an au where Louis and Harry have been together for seven years. But right as their best friend Niall is about to tie the knot, they separate. Zayn is trying to hold everything together, despite having to deal with his own issues, and Harry gets to really understand what it feels like to hit rock bottom.<br/><br/>But he's not sure whether he will be able to put the pieces of his life back together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Carry up on the morning

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic in this fandom, so please be nice :)  
> This chapter is divided in two parts. The majority of the warnings apply only to this first parts, so don't worry it will get better in the next chapter, I promise!  
> A big, big thank you to my beta, Maddie, THANK YOU SO MUCH ILY. She is nightwide on tumblr.  
> A big thank you also to our squad!  
> I really hope someone will like this!  
> IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT: The second and last chapter of this work has already been written, it just needs to be proof read and edited!  
> Come and say hi on tumblr, I'm[ embracedlouis](http://embracedlouis.tumblr.com/)!

_Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,_  
_But bears it out even to the edge of doom._  
_If this be error and upon me proved,_  
_I never writ, nor no man ever loved._

*

**Part I.**

Harry had never imagined he would wake up one day as a 25-year-old almost divorced, unemployed pitiful mess. He is still thanking his lucky stars that he isn't completely alone in this world, that his mate Zayn had agreed to make him stay in the spare room in his flat for free, basically, until he finds a new roommate or decides to move in with his girlfriend. He had never thought that he'd be spending most of his days in bed, or eating junk food, work out routine completely forgotten, his yoga studio membership expired months ago. He isn't even sure if he'd be able to do any of the postures he spent years practicing until he could do them perfectly. Most days, he doesn't feel like himself at all. And that is maybe the thing that scares him the most. 

It scares him more than his unpaid telephone bills, it scares him more than having lost his job because he felt too sorry for himself to even get out of bed in the morning, it scares him more than the knowledge that his life has been a downward spiral of grief, impotence and reckless actions for almost a year now. 

He wakes up with a dull ache in his lower back, his most faithful companion these days when his sore back never abandons him. He is vaguely aware that he hasn't changed his underwear in three days, he doesn't want to think about the last time he changed the sheets. He makes a mental note to apologise to Zayn for the state of his bedroom, and to thank him profusely again and again for not letting him become homeless. Zayn is maybe the only person that he trusts with his life, the only person he feels like he can talk to about anything, the only person he has ever felt a deep connection to. If he doesn't consider Louis, obviously.

Louis had come in his life when he was a snotty 18-year-old uni student, so young and so, so naive. Not that he would ever admit that to himself. Falling for Louis had been like catching a disease, one of a peculiarly aggressive and infectious kind. He never stood a chance; Louis was so bright, so full of life, so confident, bold and fearless. Everything Harry had never been and everything he thought he never could be. 

In Louis he found the missing pieces of his soul in a way he had never dreamed was possible. Louis had been the only person who had ever bothered to really get to know Harry, to really find out everything he had to offer and to give something in return. But in the end that hadn't been enough, in the end Harry realised that Louis had taken it all, Louis had literally sucked all the blood from his veins, had rocked his world so much that Harry was left with an empty soul, spinning and spiralling out of control until he had been spat out of the sun's orbit; out of Louis' orbit. 

Harry doesn't remember every detail of all their years together; he especially can't for the life of him remember their first year together. Niall would tease him and say that he lived in a dickhaze for twelve months, that his brain had gone all mushy and of course he can't remember any of it. Harry remembers their first time, Harry's first time ever. It had been after four months of dates, four months of getting to know each other, being all over each other every second they spent together. They were so unbearably clingy, so intolerably disgusting in their mutual display of affection, borderline exhibitionist when they started getting each other off in random bathrooms at house parties, in the park at dusk, in Louis' mum's car the first time Harry had visited Doncaster. 

Another dear memory Harry recalls from that period is the first time Harry brought Louis back to his mum's house in Holmes Chapel. 

It was an unusually hot summer, the trees in the surrounding orchards heavy with pears, apricots, plums. Almost ripe, Harry and Louis would spend hours marvelling at the beautiful fruits under the sun. The wisteria tree in Harry's back garden was in full bloom. Louis said he had never seen such a beautiful thing, the lavender flowers hanging from the branches, almost grazing the grass beneath. He had insisted on taking a picture with Harry in front of it, much to Anne's delight. 

Harry still keeps that picture in his old tattered journal, now hidden in the top drawer of his nightstand. He doesn't need to retrieve the photo to portray in his mind him and Louis on that summer day, looking young and happy. Their arms around each other, Harry wearing his aviators, face turned towards the camera, while Louis' chin was slightly tilted upward and his eyes trained on Harry. 

When Harry thinks back to when they decided it would be a good idea to get married, he can't help but still feel a pang in his chest, a mixture of sadness and longing, a deep nostalgia that leaves him breathless. One night, sometime after their third anniversary, they were lying in their bed, Louis' hair tousled and his cheeks still flushed from his climax. Harry had felt so utterly complete in that moment, like his life had already achieved its fulfilment by being able to call this beautiful creature his, he, without thought, blurted out, “We should get married”. 

Then he had unconsciously held his breath, watching as Louis' features changed, from surprise to incredulity, to a final look of certainty that made Harry's chest tight with anticipation. He had felt his breathing hitch and then he forced it to even out, while he waited for Louis' response, which came in the form of a non-committal groan and a fierce, close-mouthed kiss with his eyes shut. 

Harry's eyes remained open, the beat of his heart loud in his ears. After long minutes, hot puffs of air began to hit Harry's mouth, signalling that Louis was fast asleep in his arms and Harry hadn't dared move, not able to sleep for what felt like many hours to him, or maybe it was only a few minutes. 

A few months later Louis was proposing to him in front of his whole family, on Christmas Eve, the day Louis was turning twenty-four. “This is the best present you could ever give me,” Harry remembers him saying, while Louis was kneeling in front of him with glassy eyes. Harry had been too shocked to form a proper reply right away, but he was nodding so Louis took his hand in his, placed the silver band on his ring finger and stood up to kiss Harry's lips briefly before he took him his arms, a tight hug that lasted forever in Harry's mind. 

It's not that theirs wasn't a happy marriage; it's just that Harry wasn't happy. He was happy at the beginning, the first few years. Louis was a successful physiotherapist, about to open his own study, waiting for a new partnership. Harry was fresh out of uni, having graduated in English with the highest marks and a thesis that was possibly going to be published in a literary magazine. But that didn't happen, the publication was cancelled, Harry didn't land the PhD he wanted, he didn't make it into the teaching program; he was feeling like a total failure, he wasn't even able to help pay rent now that he and Louis had moved into a bigger flat after the wedding. 

He managed to get a job in the bookshop where Zayn had been working during his uni years, a modest place far from the city centre where he could go a whole morning without any custom. That didn't help him get better, that didn't help him prevent the utter feeling of uselessness that swamped him every night when Louis got back from work, all bright smiles and stories of his patients, and he never saw what that did to Harry. 

Louis never questioned if Harry was really doing ok, even when he couldn't help but ask him if his work at the bookshop was what he wanted, if he felt accomplished, satisfied, with the life they had, the life they were supposedly building together. Harry hadn't had it in him to say anything about what was going on in his mind, he only said he was doing fine, and apparently that was enough for Louis. Louis never asked more, and Harry didn't give. 

Then began the resentment, the endless nights Harry spent with his eyes wide open, staring at the dark ceiling while Louis snored softly next to him. The fights and the tears that looked so futile in Louis' eyes, while he scolded Harry for being a child, told him to stop whining and get his life together. That was what hurt him the most, when Louis told Harry that it was him who was the problem, that it was because of Harry that they argued almost every night over nonsense, if they spent days not talking to each other because Louis was busy and he didn't have time to listen to Harry complaining. 

One morning, Harry had found himself on the couch, face covered in snot and dried tears, Louis shuffling through the bedroom and the kitchen, preparing breakfast. While Harry was stirring, feeling his limbs heavy like lead, slowly recollecting the memories from the night before – the fight, Harry shouting and crying and the pity in Louis' eyes where there once had been only love – Louis had come into his line of vision and sat on the coffee table in front of the sofa, facing Harry with a strange, resigned look on his face.

“I think it's best if you go home for a while,” Louis said, unable to meet Harry's eyes, hands fiddling in his lap.

“What do you mean home? I am home”. But Harry knew what Louis meant, and he immediately felt a heaviness in his chest that, despite the rough night he’d had, wasn't there before. He couldn't find his voice then, he couldn't find the strength to form a proper reply. He could only stare at a point above Louis' shoulder, unable to move. 

After what felt like several minutes, Louis spoke again, “I'm sure it's for the best, Harry, I don't think either of us can go on like this any longer. I called the shop earlier, told them you're poorly and you won't be able to go in for a couple days.” 

Harry gasped at that, feeling like a fish on dry land. His eyes finally landed on Louis' and he suddenly realised that that person, his husband, already felt like a stranger. 

It all went downhill from there. He went back to Holmes Chapel; at first he didn't tell his mum the real reason for his very much unexpected visit. But after almost a week of brooding, his mom cornered him and Harry told her everything that had happened in the last few months, bawling his head off for an hour before he passed out on the living room couch. In the end he never got back to his and Louis' flat; he only went there once to collect his things, since he was moving out into a shitty studio flat. The first night he spent there a single thought kept spiralling in his mind, Harry incapable of stopping it. This feels like a coffin.

Then depression ensued. Not that he had felt great in the last year - far from it -, but this kind of hopelessness was new to Harry. This creeping sorrow that invaded more of him each day that passed, each day when it felt harder and harder to find a reason to leave the house, a reason to go to work and not tell anyone who bothered him to just fuck off. 

It was more and more impossible to just feel, and Harry was mentally praising himself because in that messy situation he was trying, really trying to get through that madness. He was still deluded in thinking Louis would reconsider going through with the separation. The possibility of Louis being really done with him made so little sense that Harry just couldn't really entertain the idea. It was a strange state of denial, mixed with desolation and sadness, but Harry was still seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. 

At least until the separation papers came in the mail. That's when he really lost the last ounce of sanity he had retained. 

He called Niall, one of the few people who were still in touch with both him and Louis, besides being Harry’s sister's fiancé.

“Why is he doing this?” Harry hadn't realised he was sobbing until the words came out broken. Harry hadn't heard from Louis in a couple of weeks. 

“He says it's the best thing now, H,” Niall's tone was calm, and Harry felt a surge of anger rise in his chest, a sour taste in his mouth as he muffled another sob. “He thinks being with him made you sad, he says that both of you will be better off. H, listen to me, he is hurting ok? He's not happy about this, but he doesn't see any other option.”

Harry felt his legs give out, his back sliding against the wall until he fell to his knees on the grey carpet, left hand raking through his greasy curls whilst the right one clutched the phone like a lifeline.

“I gotta see him. I gotta talk to him. Now,” he said with a panicked tone. “I am going to talk to him, Niall. He can't do this. No.”

Harry heard a heavy sigh on the other end of the line, a sound that didn't serve to do anything to alleviate the rising dread that was crushing him.

“He isn't in London right now, he's in Doncaster for the weekend. Wait a sec, Gemma wants to talk to you.” Harry heard shuffling on the other end, and then his sister's voice, tone collected and soothing. Harry hadn't known how much he needed to hear her voice until that moment.

“Harry, I know you don't get it, but he needs to be alone right now. You need to be alone, you need to sort yourself out, alright?” The overwhelming feeling was leaving space for something else, Harry wasn't one step from a panic attack anymore, but somehow the hollowness he was suddenly experiencing was worst than panic. “Why don't you come to stay with me and Niall for some time? Or maybe you should call a friend to stay over at your place. I don't want you to be all by yourself.”

Harry didn't reply; he felt emptied, a human shell that no longer contained a soul. He hung up and felt the phone slide off his hand, suddenly limp. The phone hit the carpet with a dull thud, and Harry found the strength to stand up and throw himself on the unmade bed, feeling void of life.

He woke up to the sound of banging on his door. At first he felt a blissful nothingness claw at his insides, and he basked in that state of ignorance for a few seconds before reality crashed into him. He instantly felt a painful twinge in his chest, as if someone was stabbing right into his ribcage, as if he had a stitch and wasn't able to breath in properly. He didn't know what inner force he had left that made him get up and stumble to open the door. He was faced with a very annoyed Zayn, who unceremoniously shoved him and stepped inside, closing the door behind him. 

“Been knocking on that goddamn door for fifteen minutes,” he said. Harry gaped at him, eyes frantically moving from Zayn's hard features to the dismal state of his flat, but he wasn't bothered enough to feel any shame. 

“Sorry mate,” was all he managed to reply, his voice hoarse.

“Well, why don't you clean yourself up a bit? We are going out.” Zayn had a determined look on his face. Harry looked down to verify the state he was in. He was wearing pyjamas that had definitely seen better days; they were now frayed and stained in various places, but Harry didn't want to delve into the nature of those stains.

“I'd rather stay in tonight, thanks,” Harry croaked, not at all convinced he could win this one.  
“Well, we are not staying in tonight. Clean up. When was the last time you washed your hair?” Zayn had a look of mild disgust. “Although we can't do much for your face I'm afraid.” He paused, poking Harry in the side until he was squirming away from him and towards the minuscule bathroom that could barely contain a shower.

“Off you go.”

Harry stepped out of his dirty pyjamas, took a quick shower, paying particular attention to his dishevelled hair, and wrapped a semi-clean towel around his middle. He went back into the main room to find that Zayn had already spread out on the bed a pair of black jeans and a grey hoodie.

“Thanks man.” Harry dressed quickly, pulled on his worn-out black boots and stared at Zayn, who was fidgeting by the door, hand already on the handle.

“You ready?”

*

He doesn't think he would still be a semi functioning human being had it not been for Zayn. Seriously, Harry should try to act more grateful. Three months after the separation had been official, Harry got the sack. He knows it was his fault, he knows he was doing a shitty job, that most of the days he was late because Zayn had to literally drag him out of bed, and more than once he didn't show up without even bothering to text his boss some excuse. It's not that he didn't want to maintain his job, but he just couldn't bring himself to care enough. He couldn't bring himself to care much about anything, apart from the constant ache in his chest, a dull throbbing pain that, despite being much less strong than the day he received the separation papers, hadn't left him alone a minute since. 

He had seen Louis a couple of times; once they had met with Niall and Gemma, like they couldn't trust him to be alone with his hus--ex-husband for a minute. Harry had been apathetic though, barely registering the guilty look Louis gave him, the pity in the eyes of his own sister. He just couldn't do it and when he got home that night - he was still living in the studio flat – he had drunk until the pain in his rib cage was almost vanished. But the bliss of that intoxicated state didn't last long.

He was informed by Niall that Louis was doing fine; apparently the new studio was a success and he was working late more nights than not. Not that Harry cared, except for the fact that he cared very much a lot and he was basically living off those little snippets of Louis' life that Niall fed him. He was obsessed by the thought of Louis moving on, moving on from their marriage, moving on from all the years they had spent together. Harry was still so much in love with him, Louis still his one and only. The mere thought of his other half moving on, making a life of his own, a life that didn't include Harry, where there was no room for a burden like Harry, was enough to send him into a pit of despair. 

Occasionally, in the beginning, he would wake up to texts from Louis asking him how he was doing. He seldom replied, and maybe Louis didn't appreciate it, or maybe someone had told him off, but those texts soon stopped and Harry hadn't heard from him in many months. He doesn't know if it’s a blessing that him and Louis virtually aren't in touch anymore, or if that is yet another reason for him wanting to shrivel up to nothingness and be forgotten by the whole world.

It is at the beginning of October that Harry feels something is changing. The days are shorter and he notices that his gloomy mood is slowly subsiding, giving space to a rather odd feeling that leaves him restless and anxious, especially towards the evening. The sun begins to set early, and around five o'clock, if he peeks through the window by his bed, he catches glimpses of a deep crimson sky, low clouds dark in the premature dusk. He feels something stir in his chest.  
This strange excitement translates into an unprecedented desire to go out, to breathe in the crispy autumn air and submerge himself in the dimly lit alleys that surround his tranquil neighbourhood. 

When Zayn leaves one Tuesday night, Harry dresses up and five minutes later, clad in a leather jacket and a flimsy scarf that he stole from Zayn's wardrobe, he is walking down the sidewalk in front of his complex. The streetlights, the lights from the shop, the bustle and hustle of the many lives that he encounters are giving him a sort of epiphany. After many weeks and months of deep emptiness he finds himself wanting to live, wanting to experience something other than the numbness and the apathy he is so used to.

On a whim, Harry decides to take the tube, and he doesn't feel like himself for the whole ride. He feels giddy; he doesn't perceive himself as a material being. He is convinced that, were he to get up from his seat and smack someone on the head, they would turn around and not see what hit them. Suddenly someone bumps into his shoulder, and Harry immediately turns around and mutters a “Sorry,” but as soon as he faces back to the black window, he realises with a mild feeling of unease that that didn't sound like his voice at all. He sounded like a stranger to his own ears. 

He exits at Camden Town and heads towards a bar, following an invisible lead since he doesn't even remember the last time he went clubbing in Camden. He winds up in an almost empty place, a small dancefloor just right of the entrance and a line of stools all along two adjacent walls. The light is slightly greenish and he suddenly knows he has been here before, maybe during his first year of uni, merely weeks before he met Louis. This is a gay bar, one where most people show up with the only intention of picking up.

He sits on a stool by the bar, and he already knows how the night will end. He doesn't feel nervous though, only dizzy, and the three shots he takes on an empty stomach are enough to make him feel just the right side of tipsy. He looks around for the first time since he entered the place, noticing that there seems to be a lot more people now, and both stools at his sides are occupied. He spots a short, blond guy in the right corner, lazily mouthing at a blue straw while he watches the bartender dry up some glasses. The bartender is a proper hunk; no wonder that blond guy is ogling him. 

Harry hears someone clear his throat behind him, and when he slowly turns around he's met by a set of curious hazel eyes.

“Hey,” the boy says, flashing a toothy grin in Harry's direction, “My name's Adam.” Harry is silent while he takes in the ordinary appearance of the guy in front of him. Grey shirt, dark jeans, average height and pleasant but unremarkable features. 

“I'm Harry. I want to have fun tonight.” 

Adam smirks as he shakes Harry's hand, blushing at the same time. Harry still isn't sure if his words are actually spoken or if he is the only one who can hear his own voice. He doesn't care at this point. 

“Come dance with me first,” Adam says, and Harry stands up so fast he almost falls down again, but a warm hand is already on his hip, steadying him.

The music is loud and quite obnoxious, but Harry sways to the beat anyway, arms around Adam's shoulders until the boy is kissing his neck and Harry is suddenly aware again of the feeling of weirdness deep in his bones. It's a bizarre kind of consciousness; he knows that it is his body that is pressing into this stranger's torso, yet it doesn't really feel like it. 

It's not long before their heated snogging turns into shameless dry humping, and Adam is taking Harry by the hand and leading him towards the back entrance of the bar. From then on it's a bit of a blur for Harry. He remembers Adam pinning him to the wall, crowding him and thrusting his hips against Harry's stiff cock, Adam groaning and saying, “You coming back to mine, right?”

Harry remembers taking a cab, and following Adam in a little, seemingly cosy flat. Adam stripping him off, muttering nonsense into Harry's ears. He recalls the feeling of something cold and wet against his arsehole, and the intrusion of fingers, then Adam's cock. Harry doesn't know if he came, he doesn't know what Adam said afterwards. He doesn't remember getting his clothes back on.

Harry finds himself standing on the pavement outside Zayn's block of flats. He must have wandered aimlessly for the last part of the night, because the sky is already a light shade of blue, dawn fast approaching. He distantly registers a faint sound of birds chirping, cold morning air hitting his cheeks and making his nose hurt when he inhales.

Harry stumbles past the front door, at the same time as a worried Zayn bolts upright from the couch. 

“Where the fuck have you been all night?” Harry is stunned, only capable of staring blankly at Zayn's concerned expression. “Are you out of your mind, I was sick with worry! You left your phone home, what the fuck.”

“I’m tired, I’m going to bed,” Harry shoves past Zayn, who looks really angry but also knackered. His loose black hair, usually styled in a quiff, is pathetically floppy against his forehead and he has dark circles under his eyes. 

Harry vaguely wonders if he was up all night waiting for his return, but he couldn't care less. In the present moment he just wants to drown in his sheets, and sleep until he becomes one with his bed. Until he feels the familiar numbness again. 

Zayn doesn't interrogate him further the next morning. After a couple of days spent in bed, after Harry has relived the day Louis left him a thousand times in his head, the feeling of abandonment and grief a steady presence in his chest, Harry goes out again. And again. And again. Every other night, he would find himself in a stranger's bed. Some question his eagerness to get laid, some offer him drugs that Harry doesn't find any reason to refuse, some don't even bother to ask his name or to give him theirs. 

Before that first night out, Harry had only ever had sex with one person. Now he hadn't even kept count of how many cocks he has sucked in the last two weeks, let alone how many random people's mouths he has kissed in seedy clubs. He doesn't really think about what he's doing while he is out, he doesn't really think about what he has done once he gets home in the early hours of the morning.

Zayn is giving him the silent treatment now, comprised of worried looks mixed with a hint of anger. He must know what Harry is up to most nights; Harry doesn't bother to cover any bruises or lovebites. He doesn't care if he wakes up Zayn with his loud retches in the toilet at 4 a.m.

*

It's a Saturday night and Harry goes out. 

He's on the dancefloor, drunk, swaying his body to a low bass rhythm. He's had enough to drink to feel pleasantly drunk, his eyelids are heavy but his limbs move on their own accord. His mind is blank, he isn't thinking about anything and he revels in this state of detachment from the world. This peacefulness is suddenly broken when he feels a small body pressing to his front. He slowly lowers his gaze until he's faced with a short girl, rouged lips and a mischievous glint in her glossy chestnut eyes. The girl promptly puts clammy hands behind Harry's neck, guiding him down.

“What's your name?” she asks with her mouth grazing Harry's ear, loudly enough so that he can hear her above the blasting music.

“Harry,” he yells. 

“I'm Katie,” she moves one of her hands down Harry's back until it's resting just above his ass, the other still gripping his neck. She's kissing him suddenly and Harry is so stunned it takes him several moments to starts kissing her back and he thinks it's a rather odd sensation. He doesn't remember the last time he kissed a girl, but it feels so strange now. Irrationally, he thinks that her tongue, pushing into his mouth, is unusually small, and he wonders if it is just that girls' tongues are smaller. 

They kiss for a while, oblivious to the mass of bodies that bump into them as they sway. When her hand shifts from his ass to the front of his jeans and she tries to grab his groin, he pushes her away as gently as he manages in his inebriated state. 

“Sorry,” Harry shouts, trying to step away and noticing her puzzled expression. She's crowding him again, and he takes the chance to blurt in her ear “I like cock.”

She tries to shove him, but she ends up stumbling backwards. She doesn't seem too pleased, but Harry doesn't spare her a second glance before he turns around and heads in the direction of the bar.

After the Katie disaster, he is approached by a tall, sturdy, young bloke. Harry doesn't remember his name, but the guy buys him a drink and keeps telling him that he looks fucking hot so Harry can't really complain. 

Later Harry is telling this guy – Eric – that yes, he absolutely wants to go home with him tonight. They take a cab and Harry feels slightly dizzy. Eric keeps whispering in his ears filthy things, how hot he is, what he wants to do to him. Harry doesn't reply but he lets Eric massage his dick through his jeans.

As soon as they enter the flat, Eric guides him to a small bedroom and closes the door behind them. 

“Take your clothes off.” Harry immediately complies and when they are both naked Eric sits on the bed. Harry gets on his knees and starts sucking him off. After a while, Eric makes him pull back and abruptly stands up, gripping Harry's head and pushing his cock back in. This time he doesn't stay still while Harry blows him, he starts fucking into his mouth.

Harry feels his eyes welling up, his chin covered in saliva and his jaw starting to hurt. He pushes Eric's hips back and takes a few deep breathes.

“You were choking me,” Harry exclaims, standing up. Eric grabs him and starts kissing him hard, hands roaming Harry's naked body. 

“You liked it,” Eric says mockingly, his cold breath hitting Harry's skin. 

Harry tries to retort but Eric is thrusting his tongue into his mouth again. He is pushed on his back on the bed and Eric settles between his parted legs, Harry's hands pinned above his head. Eric starts kissing and biting at his neck. 

“You're a proper slut,” he says. Harry is motionless, eyes shut tightly, unable to even breathe.

“You’re a cockslut, admit it.”

Eric's face hovers over his, and Harry acts on instinct. He head-butts him with all of his might, and when Eric's hands fly to his face Harry extracts himself from his grasp and bolts upright. He scrambles from the bed and tries to find his discarded clothes. He hears grunts and curses from where Eric's crouched on the bed, a hand on his bleeding nose.

Harry is almost dressed; he's fumbling with his jeans when he feels a heavy hand on his shoulder. He’s heaved around and a hard fist collides with his cheekbone, sending a searing pain through his scalp. Miraculously Harry doesn't fall, but his right side hurts like hell and he realises he must have hit something in the recoil. Eric is shouting at him, but Harry's ears are clogged and he can't discern a single word, mind only set on getting the hell out of there.

He doesn't know how he gets home, or how long it took him. 

He is noisily entering his flat and he must've woken Zayn because he is faced with his appalled expression.

“What happened?” Zayn shrieks in a horrified tone, “You're bleeding. C'mere.”

Harry is dragged to the bathroom, where Zayn retrieves a first aid kit and starts attending to Harry's face.

“Tell me what happened, please Haz,” he pleads, in a way that suggests he doesn't really expect Harry to give him a proper reply. But Harry tries.

“I'm so sorry,” Harry feels wetness gather at the corners of his eyes. “I didn't think it would end up like this.”

“Harry,” Zayn tries to soothe him, his warm hand resting on Harry's shoulder, “Please tell me what happened and we can fix this.”

“No,” tears are falling down his cheeks now, “I just want to sleep. Please.”

“Ok.” Zayn is mad, Harry can tell. Zayn is fuming and Harry feels completely helpless.

*

He wakes up to the sound of his phone ringing. His head is throbbing painfully, and he flinches when he accidentally brushes his bruised cheek on the pillow. He grabs the chiming phone and his heart jumps in his throat when he sees Louis' name flashing on the screen. He doesn't answer.

*

Louis calls him a second time that evening, and this time Harry answers without thinking about what he's doing.

“Hello,” his voice is hoarse from lack of use.

“How are you?” Louis' tone is concerned; Harry chuckles bitterly.

“Why are you calling me, Louis?” He doesn't wait for an answer before he adds, “Did Zayn tell you? Or was it Niall? Gemma must know by now too, great.”

“It doesn't matter who told me, I just want to know if you're alright.”

“It's none of your business,” Harry's tone is harsher than he intended. He hears a sharp intake of breath on the other line, then a long sigh.

“I know.” Louis sounds resigned, and Harry is half surprised, half disappointed that he is giving up so easily. “I am just worried, Harry. You're not, like, hurt right?”

“I am tougher than you all seem to think and honestly, I don't want to be having this conversation with you right now. Goodbye Louis.” Harry hangs up without a second thought, heart thumping fast in his ribcage. Now that he has talked to Louis, heard his voice, he doesn't feel all that bold or strong anymore. He feels inane, insignificant and petty. 

The reality of what his life has become these past few weeks suddenly hits him, and he feels a wave of nausea at the back of his throat. He barely makes it to the toilet before he is emptying his stomach in the bowl, kneeling on the cool tiles. He breathes heavily for a while after, wiping his mouth with a discarded towel. He feels ill and drags his sorry self back to the bedroom, where he collapses on the squeaking mattress. 

He lays there motionless for what feels like hours. It’s dark when Zayn eventually comes into Harry’s room and sits on the foot of the bed. Harry doesn't even have the energy to raise his head to look at him. He manages to make a whiny sound and say, “I'm so fucked up”. 

“I know.” Zayn grabs one of Harry's ankles in his hand in a soothing gesture. 

“I mean, what happened last night isn't any of your fault, H. That guy was a dickhead, I wish you remembered where he lives so I could pay him a visit and smash his face.” Zayn underlines his words with a tight squeeze of Harry's ankle. “But you need to sort yourself out, mate.”

Harry makes a disgruntled expression and presses his face in the pillow, muffling a sob. Last night was sort of a wake up call for him. What he is doing isn't only stupid, it is definitely dangerous.

“I won't let you put yourself in a situation like that again. I want you to get better.” The sincerity in Zayn's words makes Harry's heart tighten.

“Do you think I can get better?” Harry replies shakily, finally managing to raise his head to look Zayn in the eyes.

“Only if you want to, but you know you have my full support. I will do anything to help you, anything.” Zayn's voice quivers, but then he continues, “It's been so long, H, since I last saw you smile. I want my best friend back, you have no idea how much I miss you.” A fat tear escapes his left eye and Zayn quickly wipes it away with the corner of his sleeve. 

The sight is too much for Harry, who begins sobbing in earnest, shoving his face into the pillow once again. 

“You don't understand Zayn. I can't function without him, I can't.” His sobs are making it difficult to speak, “I don't know how to go on. I don't know how to live a life I don't want. This wasn't supposed to be my life. I am nothing without him.” His whole body is shaking now, and he gives in to the violent sobs. Zayn is suddenly next to him, pulling him tight against his chest until Harry's snotty cheek is plastered to the front of his t-shirt.

“You will get better, I promise. I will help you get better, I will do anything I can.” It is clear from his voice that Zayn's crying too, and that makes the pain in Harry's chest intensify even more, which he didn't think it was possible. After several minutes, his sobs stop, but he's still producing copious amount of tears and snot. Zayn's shirt is soaked but he doesn't seem to care. Harry falls asleep again, listening to the slightly fast but steady heartbeat pressed to his ear.

**Part II.**

Harry thinks that it is easy to believe that he is going to do better tomorrow. But when he realises that today is just like yesterday, and he feels exactly the same, he starts to wonder what he is doing wrong, why everyday looks just like the day before. And he feels stuck in an endless eternity of sameness. 

*

The first few days since the episode that Harry has begun thinking of as an awakening pass by in a blur. Harry doesn't leave his room very often. He mostly lays in bed reflecting on what his life has become; he analyses the past month, to which he refers in his mind as "the wild month", but he doesn't come to any particularly enlightening conclusion. He fucked up, he isn't able to explain his behaviour or what had gotten into him. He just knows that, after months of feeling sad and numb, indolent and uninterested in anything, the feeling of the sudden rush of energy and the desire to go outside in the real world for the first time in so long is indicative how intoxicated his mind had been.

The last few weeks had been marked not only by his reckless sex drive and desire to sleep with strangers, but also a lack of any real sleep, and he doesn't remember the last time he ate a proper meal.

After four days of brooding and vegetating in bed, of Zayn preparing him sandwiches around dinner time that he couldn't always bring himself to eat, of considering what he had to do in order to really start to get better, of imagining what Louis would've thought had he seen him in that state, bruised and pathetic, Harry decides it is time to act upon his will to gain back control of his life.

Had Harry made a list of initial things he wanted to achieve, the first thing on that list would have been "get healthy". Harry is sick of the back pains, sick of his lazy digestive organs, of feeling weak and unfit, sick of eating bad foods or not eating at all. 

At ten o’clock on a cold November morning, he goes grocery shopping, only buying healthy food, and then spends the day cooking vegetarian stew and tofu, and baking pumpkin muffins using only organic ingredients. 

When Zayn gets back from work he comes to a standstill on the threshold, one gloved hand slowly untangling his wool charcoal scarf while his nostrils flare, sniffing the air coming from the kitchen.

“Are you cooking something?” he asks as he eyes Harry suspiciously, probably considering the state of desolation the fridge and pantry usually are in. 

Harry gestures to the set table, the new purple napkins he bought that morning on top of the white china plates with blue decorations Zayn and Harry never really used.

“Ta-da!” Harry is grinning widely now.

Zayn still looks quite confused, so Harry goes to take his jacket and throws it on the couch, urging him to take a seat.

“I went grocery shopping this morning, and I cooked one of your favourite dishes!” Zayn is smiling too now, but he still looks bewildered. 

“Wow Haz, I didn't know you left the house while I'm at work...”

“I don't, usually. Today was the first time I went out. Now shut up and enjoy your food,” Harry says, as he carefully sets the steaming stew pan on the table and sits down in front of Zayn. 

They eat in silence for a while, Harry unable to think of anything other than the orgasm his taste buds are experiencing at the moment.

“That's really good mate, I am glad you rediscovered your culinary skills,’ Zayn eventually says, then he hesitantly adds, “To what do I owe this honour?”

Harry chuckles and swallows a particularly delicious piece of marinated tofu, a strange feeling of embarrassment rising in his chest.

“I just wanted to do something positive, for myself –” He stops in his tracks and looks at Zayn, “And for you. I never told you how much all you have done means to me. I don't know where I'd be now if it weren't for you, Zayn. You are the best friend in the world.” 

Harry doesn't know where this impromptu speech came from, but since the awakening he has been acutely aware of how much he actually owes Zayn.

“I mean it. I've been a proper mess, and I want to get back on track. I’m tired of being a pitiful excuse for a human being. I want a new beginning.” Harry is now staring intensely at the leftovers on his plate, feeling vulnerable. 

“Harry, you are not a burden; you know that. You need to remember that I want you here, and I want to help you, ok?” Harry lifts his gaze and nods briefly at Zayn who is staring at him with a mixture of fondness and something that resembles pride. 

“I know that, yeah...I’m tired of this situation. I want to get better, I want to feel like a normal person.”

“You are never going to be normal, Harry, you are just you. And you have a lot of people who love you and want nothing more than to see you happy again.”

Harry feels his heartbeat speed up at the mere thought of what he is about to say. Zayn puts his hand on Harry's where it rests on top of the table.

“Do you think Louis would care that I want to get better?”

“Yes, of course,” Zayn exhales, his lips curved in a half smile. “He cares about you, a lot. He knows what you've been through lately; he'd be glad to know you are doing better.”

Harry frowns, Zayn's words reverberating in his mind.

“What do you mean?” he starts in an alarmed tone, “Does he know I've spent a month sleeping around with random people?”

“No!” Zayn looks mildly offended, “It's not like I gossip about you when I see him and Niall, you know I would never do that.” Zayn pulls back his hand and rests it in a fist on his lap.

“I know, I'm sorry,” Harry rushes in, feeling stupid for even thinking about Zayn talking to the others behind his back. “He knew about the guy that hit me, though.”

“Because I was so fucking worried, Haz, I had to tell someone and I told Niall on the phone and turns out Louis was with him. You know Niall can't keep a straight face.”

“Yes, ok. I don't want him to know what I did. I don't want anyone to know, ever.”

“You don't have to be ashamed, you did nothing wrong. You are single now, after all.”

“I don't care that I'm single, Zayn, I am not that person. It's not like I thought 'Hey how about I stick my dick in some random arses now that Louis’ left me' or anything like that.” Harry snorts self-deprecatingly, “I have no idea what had gotten into me; I didn't exactly plan any of it. But it's something that happened, and now that I've finally started feeling like myself I don't ever want to think about the past month again.”

Harry stands up and begins to clean up the table, throwing everything in the dishwasher. 

“How are things at the gallery?” Harry asks Zayn when they are settled on the couch with a cup of tea, TV muted on some reality show.

“Great actually. I’m still trying to impress my boss, but I think she already loves me.”

After Harry has teased him for his cockiness, Zayn asks him what he is planning on doing the following day.

“Well, I think I really need to get myself tested. I am shitting myself to be honest.” The light mood at once darkens; Harry peers into his tea stained mug. 

“Do you want me to come with you?” Zayn's tone is soft, and Harry's immediate reaction is to say 'Yes please'. But he doesn't want Zayn to keep mothering him; he has to start relying on himself more.

“Nah, I'll go by myself, don't worry.”

They smile at each other, and Harry again thinks he sees a tiny hint of pride in Zayn's eyes. He feels new warmth in his chest, and for the first time he thinks maybe he can really do it. He can start to heal. 

*

The tests come out negative, and Harry is so relieved he could throw a party for the occasion, but he thinks better of it. 

The days are starting to not feel like a repetition of the same nightmare. Slowly but steadily, Harry feels more like himself again.

He sets up a morning routine where he wakes up at a reasonable hour, has a healthy breakfast, and watches yoga tutorials on YouTube. He soon has the sad realisation that he is in pretty bad shape and has to watch beginners' videos, but he doesn't give up.

Each day is different from the day before, so of course there are still bad days where Harry is unable to respect his plans and he ends up spending the day in bed, thinking about Louis and staring at his phone for a reason he can't quite understand. He knows Louis isn't going to call him or text him, but he can't help hoping to hear from him. And he's still too much of a coward to be the first to call, even if it is just to find out how Louis is doing. 

He is well enough to start looking for employment though, and he updates his online profiles everyday. He asks Zayn and Niall if they know of any jobs he could apply for, and in the end it is Gemma who recommends him to a friend of hers who owns a hotel in Hampstead.

Harry didn't know being a front desk clerk could be so demanding, but after the first week he is able to solve virtually any costumer issue, and the terrible anxiety he had felt the morning of his first day is almost forgotten. He still dreads going to work some mornings, but he is determined to not lose this job so he lets Zayn literally drag him out of bed when he doesn't feel like getting up. It’s fortunate that Harry has to go to work an hour before Zayn has to be at the gallery.

By the end of November, he thinks he is really doing better, on the outside at least. He still gets the blues, and his heart still aches every time he thinks about Louis, which is almost every waking minute; he doesn't think his past sadness is gone for good. He knows it is hiding somewhere in the crevices of his mind, like a dormant beast, waiting to be triggered to action by something unexpected.

Zayn seems to sense it too, because one evening, while he and Harry are sprawled on the sofa, feet on the coffee table, he starts to act weirdly, as if he is trying to tell Harry something but doesn't exactly know how to broach it.

“Is something up?” Harry eventually asks.

After a bit of investigation Harry gets Zayn to talk. Turns out Zayn has been thinking about suggesting Harry to see a therapist ever since he started working at the hotel, and his sister had recommended him Dr. Amanda Bass.

“My sister saw her a couple times after Nan died. She says Dr. Bass is great; she helped her a lot.” Zayn pauses, and then adds in a sarcastic tone, “Maybe I should suggest Perrie sees her, too.”

Ever since Harry has started to become more attuned to the outside world and he no longer spends his days confined in his bedroom pitying himself, he has noticed that Zayn doesn't talk about his girlfriend like he used to, and she never stays the night; they apparently only see each other on Sundays.

“What's going on between you and Perrie? I hardly ever see her anymore.”

“Things aren't good at the moment. Not good at all.” Zayn's features remain emotionless.

“Why didn't you tell me anything?”

“It's not important, Harry, don't try to change subject.”

“It is important. Tell me what's wrong.” Harry is almost offended that Zayn hadn't said anything about the situation, but he realises that Zayn has probably been too focused on worrying about Harry's mental health to vent about his girlfriend. Harry feels guilty; he’s the worst friend ever.

“I don't want to talk about Perrie now,” Zayn says firmly, effectively closing the subject, even if Harry makes a mental note not to let it go so easily next time.

“Are you going to see Dr. Bass?” Zayn continues, staring at Harry with an inquiring expression. Harry is silent for a minute, considering what has just happened. His best friend is doing so much to help him, to the point where he supposedly avoided talking to Harry about his problems, and has sought out a person he trusts for Harry to talk to. Harry can't say no to Zayn's request.

“I love you, Zayn.” Zayn tries to squirm out of his arms, but Harry hugs him closely and sighs.

“You're such a sap,” Zayn snorts, but Harry knows he is smiling.

*

On a freezing night in early December, Harry and Zayn are stepping out of the tube station when Harry is suddenly attacked by two blond entities. Harry stumbles back, almost losing balance on the slippery pavement as Gemma and Niall give him a bone-crushing hug.

“You fucker, I haven't seen you in ages! You're a hermit,” Niall bellows, still holding Harry closely to his side even if Gemma has already released him. 

“I know, I'm sorry.” Harry is giggling, feeling genuinely happy for the first time in ages. He hadn't realised how much he was missing his sister and Niall, and he's surprised when he feels his eyes brimming with tears.

“Happy birthday, Gem.”

“Thanks. I missed you, baby brother.” Gemma flashes him a bright smile and Harry is afraid his tears are going to spill very soon if they don't cut the sentimentality.

Luckily Niall chimes in with his usual line, “I need a pint, I'm parched.”

They all laugh and finally start heading towards the pub. Niall and Gemma are holding hands and Harry eyes them fondly.

After a while they are settled in a cosy booth, Niall gulping down his Guinness, Zayn and Harry drinking lager and Gemma sipping a soft drink (Harry makes sure she doesn't have to tell him anything and Gemma almost yells, “No I am not pregnant, for heaven's sake! Quit asking me when you'll be an uncle; it's not compulsory to drink alcohol on your birthday!”). Niall puts down his glass and looks at Zayn and Harry with a satisfied expression, putting an arm around Gemma.

“So, actually, we do have something to tell you,” Niall starts. Harry immediately points an accusing finger towards his sister.

“Gemma’s pregnant!” he shouts, causing Zayn to double up with laughter. Gemma tries to hit him on the head, but he retreats into Zayn's side.

“I am already sick of you,” she mutters, with feigned indignation.

“Do you want me to be the one to tell them?” Niall asks Gemma, who is looking at Harry with amusement.

“Yes, go on babe.”

“Okay. Gemma and I are getting married.”

“We already knew that, you knob!” Harry huffs impatiently, pounding his fist on the table. Zayn grabs his arm, trying to calm him down.

“Don't mind him, it's past his bedtime. He gets all grumpy.” He tries to bop Harry on the nose, but Harry swats his hand away, growling like a disgruntled lion cub. 

“For Heaven's sake, Harry. Anyway, we’ve set a date for the wedding! We are getting married on the 5th April!” Gemma throws her drink in the air and clinks an imaginary glass. 

Harry is literally shrieking now. A girl at the table on their right observes him with a perplexed expression.

“When were you planning to tell your own brother you have a date for your wedding? I’m deeply offended.”

“Such a drama queen.” Gemma snorts. Niall is grinning like a lunatic while Harry abruptly stands up and strides to the bar.

“We're doing shots,” he shouts. “Unless Gemma has some other news she feels like sharing?”

“I'm going to kill him,” Gemma deadpans.

After three rounds of shots and Harry asking countless nonsense questions about the wedding - ‘Can I be your maid of honour Gemma?’ ‘Will you dye your hair purple for the big day?’ ‘Are Irish citizens even allowed to get married in the UK?’ ‘Will you change name to Niall Styles then?’ ‘Can we have a cat themed wedding cake?’ - they all feel tipsy and content. 

“Zayn, where's Perrie? Haven't seen her in ages.” Gemma's smile falters as Zayn's face clouds visibly at the mention of his girlfriend. 

“She couldn't make it tonight...um.” He falls silent and his gaze lowers to his lap.

“Sorry, did I say something wrong?” Her puzzled eyes skip between Harry and Niall.

“No, Gemma. Have you thought about the location yet-”

Harry is interrupted by Zayn blurting out, “I need to break up with her.”

All three heads immediately turn towards him, and no one says anything for several seconds.

“What...what happened?” Niall breaks the silence in the end, his blue eyes suddenly serious.

“It's complicated.” Zayn lets out a long sigh and downs the rest of his pint before continuing, “We haven't been okay for quite a long time now, I think, several months. I don't really know when was the last time things were good, maybe last year?”

He looks miserable. Niall and Gemma are stunned into silence; Harry is mentally beating himself for not realising things between them had gotten this bad.

“But did you two talk about it? I mean, does she suspect anything” Gemma asks calmly.

“Yes, of course. She’s unhappy with how things are, too.”

“And isn't there any way you can try to work it out? Is there a specific problem you could try to solve?”

“She wants me to change, but I have no idea what she wants me to be like. I can't stand her anymore.”

Gemma looks taken aback; she gapes at Zayn as if she doesn't know how to reply.

“I don't mean to sound rude or anything, but if you can't stand this situation why are you two still together?” Niall asks, toying nervously with a beer mat. 

“I can't leave her.”

“Why not?”

Zayn shakes his head, as if he is irritated by the question. “I need her to leave me. It has to be her.”

“You're a coward, Malik.” Gemma looks pissed now, eyeing Zayn with a wary expression. 

“Shut up, Gemma,” Harry speaks for the first time, putting a hand on Zayn's thigh, under the table. 

“It's not that simple, you know. It's not that I’m too much of a wimp to be the one to end it, she's crazy.” Zayn is really upset now, eyes wide and hands twitchy.

“What do you mean, babe?” Harry takes in Zayn's distressed appearance. He looks at him with concern, and Zayn breaks eye contact, fixing his gaze on the wall in front of him. 

“I am afraid of what she will do if I leave her. She's told me what she's done to her ex boyfriend. She vandalized his car, harassed his family, stalked him.”

Niall gasps loudly. He frowns and stands up.

“We need more drinks. Same for everyone?” They all nod.

“Zayn, I’m so sorry. I didn't peg her as like that.” It's clear that Gemma is very careful with her words now. Harry rubs Zayn's knee soothingly.

“But why does she want to drag it out? I mean, if she’s unhappy too, why doesn't she want to end things?” he asks, trying to coax Zayn to look at him.

“I've tried to suggest we take a break, but she says breaks are just an excuse to hook up with other people. She won't even remotely consider the possibility of breaking up, she claims she loves me too much to ever leave me.” He looks defeated, his shoulders hunched as if he is trying to look smaller, “I don't know how long I can go on like this, I hate this situation. She'll give me an ulcer,” he chuckles, wanting to lighten the mood, but neither Gemma nor Harry are able to drop their stern looks.

Niall returns with their drinks and plops down next to Gemma. 

“Drink up, Zayn. We'll figure something out.” His easy smile is back, and that is apparently enough to slightly lighten the mood.

“Niall needs to tell you something else,” Gemma interjects. Harry looks exasperated.

“The tension is killing me, tonight was an emotional rollercoaster. I need one hundred hours of sleep to recover.”

“Hyperbole is the only way you know how to communicate, Harry,” Gemma says, unimpressed.

“Louis is going to be my best man,” Niall states.

Suddenly all eyes are on Harry and he wriggles uncomfortably in his seat. His face is on fire and he instantly notices how his heart is beating at twice the normal rate. He feels embarrassed, and a bit betrayed, but most of all he is shocked. Of course Louis would be Niall's best man, they are best friends. Niall has known Louis since they were fourteen and Niall moved to Doncaster from Mullingar because of his parents' job. Harry is so stupid, he hadn't yet considered that Louis would take a fundamental part in his sister's wedding. 

He wants to storm off, or hide under the table, or throw a tantrum like a grumpy toddler. 

He tries to calm himself instead, taking a few deep breaths and a large gulp of cool lager.

“I totally get it, man,” he says shakily, trying to hold Niall's gaze. “You've known each other forever and, I mean, I know how much he means to you. I am a bit jealous though.” He tries to say the last part jokingly, but it turns out more pathetic than he intended. 

‘See Ni, I told you he'd take it in the right way, my baby brother is very mature. Plus, he can still be my maid of honour, can't he?’

‘Sod off, Gemma.’

When it's time to say their goodbyes, Harry hugs and kisses both Niall and his sister, their breaths misting in the icy night air. He and Zayn manage to take the last train to Edgware. Harry makes it to his bed before the tears start to stream down his cheeks. Zayn is immediately at his side.

“What's wrong, babe?” Harry is sobbing softly into his pillow, unable to answer because of the choking sensation in his throat. Zayn sits next to him and strokes his trembling back.

“Aren't you happy for your sister's wedding?” he tries. A minute later, Harry gathers the strength to raise his head.

“I am. But. I feel awful too, tonight was too much,” he whispers brokenly, grabbing a tissue from his nightstand and wiping his face. 

Harry takes several deep breaths, trying to remember Dr. Bass' advice for when he feels like he's about to lose control over his emotions.

“Well first of all, I am a shit friend. I had no idea things with Perrie were so bad, I am so sorry.” He surrenders to more sobs, burying his head into the pillow. When he's able to breathe properly again, he senses Zayn lying next to him.

“And I am so fucking sad, Zayn. My sister is getting married and I will see the love of my life next to her husband, aware that I already had my shot at happiness and blew it. I am never going to be okay again.”

Harry clutches a hand to his chest, as if trying to prevent his heart from pounding out of his body. He feels utterly hopeless, a searing pain shooting through his veins and burning like poison, turning his sobs into ugly wails he is too far gone to be ashamed of. 

Zayn gathers him in his arms and patiently waits for him to calm down. Eventually his sobbing wanes. Even though his eyes are still watering and his nose is running, he feels slightly better, his breathing slowing to a normal rate. 

“I just want you to know that everything you just said is completely wrong,” Zayn says, rubbing his palm against Harry's side, trying to comfort him. “First of all, you are not a shitty friend,” Zayn's voice is composed and Harry keeps his wet eyes shut while he listens to his soothing words. “I didn't want anyone to know about me and Perrie. I was afraid to admit to myself that our relationship is basically over; I wasn't nowhere near ready to admit it to anyone else. I didn't want it to be real, but running from reality is useless.”

They lie in silence for a while. Harry listens to Zayn's breathing becoming deeper with each inhale and exhale.

“Do you think I will ever get over Louis? That I will ever stop loving him so much it hurts?”

“I don't know, Haz, maybe not. He will always be in your heart. But that doesn't mean that you won't get another chance of being happy. I swear you will be happy again, Harry.”

“Do you think he is doing well? Without me? I wonder if he ever misses me.” 

Even though he feels beyond pathetic, Harry can't help it. The walls he has built around every memory he has of Louis, every little moment and every emotion they have shared during their years together. His already cracked armour is threatening to fall apart completely.

“Why didn't you ask Niall earlier?” Zayn's voice is drowsy but he's clearly trying to not fall asleep yet.

“I don't know. What do you know?” Harry asks petulantly. 

“Honestly, Haz, I know next to nothing. I know his new studio is doing quite well, that Lottie came to visit him last week and that's about it. Haven't seen him much lately.”

Harry grumbles but doesn't press Zayn to say more. 

“I want to see him. I'll call him tomorrow.” He has a resolute tone, but he doesn't know how he'll feel about his decision come morning. 

*

He obviously doesn't call him. Not the next day, nor the day after that.

Following his mini break down, Harry tries to get back on track. He respects his morning routine; he goes to work and plasters a big smile on his face for seven hours straight.

It's almost Christmas holiday season so his shifts are crazy and tire him out to the point where he is dead on his feet most days. When his day off – Tuesday – finally arrives, he is lying in bed at eleven o’clock in the morning, unable to go back to sleep but feeling too lazy to actually get up and start functioning. He gathers up his courage and ultimately decides to text Louis. He thinks about what to type for approximately half an hour, in the end opting for something pretty casual.

_Hey, how are you doing? Was wondering if you'd want to grab a coffee one of these days. It's been a while. x_

As soon as he hits send he feels terrified, a fearful sensation invading every part of him. Stupid stupid stupid. He chastises himself, thinks he shouldn't have left the x at the end. But it is done, so he hides his phone under the pillow like any other mature adult would do, and finally gets up.

He doesn't think about the text for the next couple of hours, finding various activities to keep his mind distracted.

He finally manages to recreate a few yoga postures his bad back had made it impossible to do properly. He takes a steaming shower and then reads a few articles online, looks for new vegan recipes, checks his e-mail. He does the laundry, vacuums the living room and his and Zayn's bedrooms, unloads the dishwasher and loads it with the dirty dishes Zayn left in the sink that morning.

He has literally run out of things to do to keep himself busy; the flat is immaculate and the fantasy novel Zayn has lent him is so boring he decides to abandon it after the third chapter.  
He glances at the clock and notices he has to be at Dr. Bass' studio in an hour, so he puts on black jeans, a plain t-shirt and a grey fluffy sweater. He slips into his worn boots and, just as he is taking his jacket from the coat rack, he remembers to take his phone, the text he sent to Louis that morning completely forgotten. 

While he's in the tube he takes his phone out of his pocket, wanting to put on some music, but his hand freezes when he sees he has three new messages from Louis. 

_Hi! I'm good, what abt you? :)_  
_Yes I'd love to get a coffee together._  
_Are you free today around 5?_

Harry replies at once, hands only slightly fumbling while he types. He panics then, but tries to fight off the sensation as he walks briskly towards Dr. Bass' studio.

A few hours later, Harry is standing outside a small cafe he's never been to before. He nervously toys with his hair, feeling suddenly very self-conscious. It’s been a long time since he last saw Louis, and he wonders what he'll think of Harry's appearance. Harry doesn't consider himself attractive. His hair reaches his shoulders now, while he kept it relatively short when he was married. He feels like he has aged more during this last year then he has during his entire life; thin lines have appeared at the corners of his mouth and the dark circles under his eyes have become a permanent fixture. He seriously considers the possibility of leaving and having Louis think he stood him up. 

Harry's eyes scan the surrounding area. He observes a few pedestrians and when he sees the traffic light turn green in that moment, he bolts and goes across to the other side of the road. He keeps walking, his long strides taking him to another crossing. He suddenly stops and gives himself a mental pep talk. “What the fuck are you doing?” he thinks. He has wanted to see Louis again for months. He has spent endless nights missing him, wondering how he was doing, not finding the courage to call him. And now that he has the chance to see him again he acts like a total coward? No, he's not allowed to chicken out now.

Schooling his facial features into what he hopes is a resolute expression, he turns back and paces towards the cafe where he's supposed to meet Louis. When he's almost there, Harry sees him.

Louis looks slightly anxious, his gaze darting in every direction. He shoves his gloves in the pockets of his unbuttoned navy pea coat, and then adjusts the grey beanie on his head. 

Harry once again abruptly stops as if he had been stunned. A whirlwind of emotions tumbles in his head and makes him slightly dizzy. He feels it all, stronger than ever. He is so in love with him it physically hurts. He knew that, but seeing Louis in the flesh for the first time after so long has a physical impact on Harry. He feels his heart pounding in his throat and his face blushing. His wool scarf is suddenly itchy against his neck and he instantly regrets not having gone through with his escape.

Harry is still standing awkwardly a few meters to Louis' side, but Louis spots him and a timid smile appears on his lips as he waves in Harry's direction. Harry waves back and takes a few steps towards the front of the cafe, feeling unsure. 

Are they supposed to hug or not? Maybe shake hands? No, that would be awful.

“Hey!” Louis exclaims.

“Hi.”

For an awkward moment they stand stock-still in front of each other. Then Louis reaches out and draws Harry into a one-armed hug. 

“That was strange,” Louis chuckles.

“Yeah. Shall we go in?” Harry can't seem to look him in the eyes. 

They settle at a small table in the far left corner, Louis with his tea and Harry with his soya milk cappuccino. The place is almost empty; Harry glances out of the window and sees that it's already almost dark outside. 

Harry is uncomfortable with the silence that envelops them, but his mind is temporarily blank. Louis is gazing intensely at his tea, and Harry is busy staring at him. He looks really good, even better than in Harry's memories. His skin is still pale and smooth, traces of stubble on his cupid bow and chin. His pretty lips a bit pursed while his lashes tremble imperceptibly. 

“Well, we should talk about something I suppose.” Louis meets Harry's eyes, and Harry desperately wants to look away, but he feels hooked. Louis' eyes shine with a hint of amusement, and Harry giggles with embarrassment. 

They chatter for a while about everything and anything. Harry is so glad to finally be able to talk to Louis again, he can't stop smiling and Louis probably thinks he looks ridiculous. Harry feels besotted and he doesn't really care if Louis can read in his eyes how much he has missed him, how much he still loves him. 

They talk about the wedding. Louis is so excited to be the best man, Harry reassures him that he is totally okay with that and not a little bit envious. Louis tells him everything about the new studio, his colleagues and his new patients. He congratulates Harry for his new job, and even if Harry tries to belittle his work at the hotel, Louis doesn't let him put himself down. 

“How's Zayn?” he asks eventually. “Is he still with Perrie?”

“He's good, yeah. They are still together...” Harry trails off, not sure if he should continue.

“Niall told me they’re having problems lately.”

Okay, so apparently Louis knows about the Perrie situation.

“Yeah, he wants to break it off, but he's afraid she won’t take it too well. She claims she loves him and she doesn't want things to end. It's pretty complicated.”

Louis appears thoughtful for a moment.

“I don't think she does still love him, though. That's the saddest part,” he says, a bit hesitant.

“What do you mean?”

“If she loved him, she would see how miserable she's making him. And she'd let him go. But she’s obsessed, not in love.”

Louis' words hang heavily between them. Harry feels once again an uneasiness he hates to experience around Louis, but the words he just spoke hit a little too close to home. He clears his throat, and mercifully the loaded moment is interrupted by the arrival of an irritated waitress.

“I hate to bother you, but we should have closed five minutes ago,” she smiles sheepishly at the both of them.

Harry swiftly stands up and begins to wrestle with the sleeves of his coat; Louis follows suit a second later. 

It's now completely dark outside and considerably chillier than it had been that afternoon. Harry shivers, and tucks his scarf more tightly around his neck as they step out of the cafe. He feels an odd mixture of relief and sorrow at the idea of having to say goodbye to Louis. 

“It was nice to catch up, Harry,” Louis says, and he suddenly sounds so formal that Harry wants to laugh in his face.

“I guess we'll see each other around before the wedding.”

“Yeah, I hope so,” Louis sniggers, “The wedding's in April, you can't possibly be MIA until then.”

Harry walks away with a heavy heart, shoulders hunched and lapels upturned against the harsh December wind. 

When Harry gets home, Zayn investigates where he has been, and Harry doesn't know what to expect when he tells him he met up with Louis.

Zayn clasps him firmly in his arms and it turns out Harry doesn't need to say more.

That night in bed Harry mulls over Louis' words. Does Louis think that Harry was obsessed with him? Harry had always thought that the main reason they had got to the point of no return in their relationship was because of their mutual codependency. Since the first time they met they had been inseparable, they were basically attached at the hip from day one. Eventually it turned out that Louis couldn't take it anymore and Harry gradually became a human shell, worn out by all the fights and all the tears. Harry hadn't been able to let go. Even if he was miserable he had never even thought about ending his marriage. It had been entirely Louis' decision in the end. But Harry had accepted it, he could never have disregarded his choice. 

It was only after he had received the separation papers that Harry began to think about how he hadn't really fought for his marriage. He began to feel a deep sorrowful regret for not having been able to somehow convince Louis to stay married. But it was already too late then. It was clear Louis didn't want him back, so Harry had swallowed up his remorse everyday.

Harry can't fall asleep then. He tosses and turns, images of Louis emerging from his memory and attacking his tired brain. Louis, as he was when they had first met, almost eight years ago now. Harry remembers him with a long feathery fringe covering his forehead, how he used to fix it to one side every time it fell and covered his eyes. 

Harry's mind wanders unrestrained then, flashes of their love life projected at the front of his mind. How he would wake Louis up with a blowjob when they had days off, the faint scent of sandalwood Louis always left on his pillowcase. That time Louis went to Ireland for a conference and, after Niall had joined him, they spent a week visiting Niall's relatives in Mullingar. Harry had missed him so much he thought he was going to die, and when finally he had come home they had spent two days in bed. 

At last he feels on the verge of dozing off, but a last thought crosses his mind before sleep overcomes him.

Maybe Louis had let him go because he loved him, because he couldn't stand to see him miserable anymore and he was sure the only thing he could do was leave him. Maybe Louis was still in love with him when they separated. But then. Is it possible that Louis isn't completely over him yet? 

Harry falls asleep thinking he really shouldn't delude himself with this possibility.

*

Harry spends the holidays in Holmes Chapel. 

He is happy to be home; he really missed his Mum and Robin. But it's still so surreal to be there without Louis. He is so sad that he doesn't get to spend Christmas Eve with him, showering him with presents and having a shameful amount of birthday sex. He texts him, though, after half an hour of typed and immediately deleted texts. He settles for a simple Happy Birthday x. He knows it is a pretty lame birthday wish, but he couldn't bring himself to add more without sounding like a sap. 

Niall and Gemma get there on the morning of Christmas Day, and they exchange presents while munching on chocolate . In the meantime, Gemma, Anne, Anne's cousin Sarah, and Harry's Great-aunt Petunia blabber nonstop about the wedding and Niall decides it's a good decision to start drinking whiskey eggnog at two o’clock in the afternoon. By the time Christmas dinner is served, Harry's mind feels pleasantly fuzzy and he devours smoked salmon and roast turkey almost as voraciously as Niall. 

It is mostly a pleasant meal, save for a little embarrassing moment when Great-Aunt Petunia asks Harry where his 'dear friend Louis' is.

“He wasn't my friend, Aunt,” Harry replies. Suddenly everyone has stopped eating and is gingerly watching him. His mother's extended family, profoundly Catholic, hadn't been invited to Harry and Louis' intimate ceremony, even if they knew very well that Harry wasn't straight. Harry doesn't even understand why they are visiting them for Christmas; probably only because they want to insinuate into the arrangements for Gemma's wedding.

Great-aunt Petunia is looking at him expectantly. 

“He was my husband. And now we are separated” Harry's voice surprisingly doesn't waver, and after a second he resumes eating, conscious of his flushed cheeks. He doesn't care though; he thinks what just happened was in a certain way hilarious, and he barely manages to not start giggling.

After pudding Harry and Niall go out on the balcony. Apparently flavoured cigars are now part of Niall's personal Christmas traditions. Needless to say they are freezing their balls off, having decided to not put on coats, and only wrapped themselves up in pile blankets.

Niall lights up, and after the first drag Harry inhales a sweet creamy aroma.

“What flavour is that?”

“Caramel. It's heavenly. Gemma hates it though, she'll probably refuse to be kissed ‘till after I've brushed my teeth at least five times,” Niall scoffs, offering Harry the cigar.

Harry breathes in the pungent smoke and splutters violently after he accidentally inhales.

“Idiot, you aren't supposed to inhale it.”

When Harry is able to breath again he gives the offensive cigar back to Niall.

“I know, but it tasted so good. It tricked me!”

They laugh quietly into the night. The back garden is silent and still, pale moon casting a faint light over the dormant orchards that extend as far as the eye can see. Harry's chest suddenly constricts with a bittersweet nostalgia. Things were so much easier when he was a child, before his parents had divorced and his father had moved out. He’s an adult now, and he himself is separated. 

He tries to push away the unexpected melancholy, tries to think about the present, as much as he is not satisfied with the turn his life has taken. 

He turns and sees Niall looking at him with a careful expression.

“Is everything alright, mate?” he asks with a hesitant smile.

“Yes, just a bit overwhelmed I think.” They lean over the railing, not looking at each other. “This is my first Christmas without Louis in a long time. I’m just a bit sad, I suppose. It's kinda normal, right? To miss him?”

“Yes, of course,” Niall replies right away. He puts the cigar back in its case and secures the blanket more tightly around his shivering frame. 

“Are you coming to mine for New Year's Eve?”

“I'll think about it.”

“Well, I really hope you aren't going to say no to a party in my humble abode,” Niall says with a posh accent, making Harry chuckle.

Harry is torn. Louis will be there, obviously, and Harry doesn't know if he'll be able to spend a whole night in his presence without going crazy. Seeing him there, surrounded by all their friends, yet being aware that he doesn't have any kind of claim to him now. He is not his boyfriend or his fiancé or his husband anymore. He's not even his friend, he's no one. And the mere thought makes his heart hurt. 

*

Harry spends the morning of the last day of the year psyching himself up, willing the intense bouts of nausea that attack him every five minutes to go away. 

He takes a long, hot shower, even if he will have to spend more than two hours on the train. Gemma drove up the day before, and Harry still refuses to buy his own car as long as he lives in a city where owning a car is basically useless. In the past he used to borrow Louis' or get him to give him a lift every time he needed to go somewhere out of town.

Harry catches the 13:03 train to Doncaster, thinking he will probably have to take another shower once he gets to Niall's house. He always feels gross after a long train ride.

He tries not to think about anything while the train speeds through the beautiful countryside. He enjoys the view, and lets his mind wander everywhere except to the image of the person he will see in a few hours. 

It's useless though. He put his iPod on shuffle, but after two or three songs the lyrics start reminding him of Louis, something they did, something he said, a memory shared together.

He scoffs and takes out his headphones, tucks his phone into the pocket of his coat, and extracts the novel he snatched from his mum's library from his overnight bag. He falls asleep after three pages.

Gemma and Niall pick him up at the station, big smiles and warm hugs. He kisses his sister on the cheeks and she makes a show of wiping it with her sleeve, while Harry rolls his eyes. 

Niall's humble abode is actually a two story detached house, three large bedrooms with en-suites, a spacious living room and a terrace. His parents, both lawyers, are always abroad during the Christmas holidays so he hosts a New Year’s Eve party every year. Niall usually knows how to host a great party. In their uni years, he would invite at least a hundred people, but since he settled down with Gemma New Year’s Eve parties are a much more intimate business.

Christmas garlands are decorating the walls of every room, the tall Christmas tree still towering from a corner of the living room and burning with bright green and golden lights. Harry helps Gemma lay out platters of delicious looking food on the long beech wood table. Niall shows him all the beverages he has stocked in his double door fridge; Harry is impressed by the innumerable bottles of wine, Portos, flavoured vodkas and all kinds of beer. In a cupboard under the kitchen island there are bottles of brandy, cider, the eggnog Niall loves, and various brands of Irish whiskey.

When everything is set, lights and decorations hanging from the walls, the loudspeaker, the food covered in tin foil and napkins, and Harry has set the wine glasses and flutes on the small table near the window, it is time for the three of them to get ready.

He settles in Greg's room, strips and takes a steamy shower in the en-suite. He doesn't wash his hair but it comes out all fuzzy from the hot air that clouded the bathroom. He steps out and wraps a towel around his waist and uses another one to wipe his torso. He sprays an excessive amount of deodorant under his armpits and suddenly it is impossible to breathe. He rushes out of the suffocating bathroom and stops dead at the sight of Louis sat on Greg's bed.

“Oh,” is all he manages.

“Sorry! I didn't know you'd be here.” Louis jumps to his feet and clutches a hand to his chest.

“Niall didn't tell you I was coming?” Harry isn't normally self-conscious, but it's been a long time since he last stood half naked in front of Louis and he feels the urge to cover himself up.

“No, I mean, I knew you'd be here tonight. I didn't know you were here, in Greg's room.” Louis is visibly trying to keep his gaze at eye level, but his eyes dart from Harry's face to his chest. “I'll just...go. Yes, I'll go look for Niall,” Louis stutters and then hastily exits the room.

Harry stands there for a moment gaping at the door.

He and Louis used to always lay claim to Greg's room when they came to visit Niall's home. If it were last year they would probably be on the bed in that moment, waiting for the other guests to arrive, cuddling and maybe talking about their New Year's resolutions.

Harry wills his heartbeat to slow to a normal pace and gets rid of the towel. He dresses in a soft pair of charcoal grey slacks and a black sheer shirt. He looks at his reflection, tries to adjust his frizzy hair, but he isn't too satisfied with it anyway. He decides to wear the blazer he brought, at least until his temperature isn't raised by alcohol. 

He slowly makes his way back to the living room, hearing cheerful voices and the soft hum of music playing in the background. His eyes are immediately drawn to Louis who is sitting on one of the ivory leather sofas scattered in the living room, beer in hand, talking and laughing with Gemma's best friend. Harry takes advantage of the fact that no one has yet acknowledged his presence to properly take a look at Louis, and the view is breathtaking. He is wearing a light mauve shirt, taut on his biceps, and a pair of cream coloured tight jeans. Harry thinks Louis looks even more fit than when they were together, and he promptly decides that in order to maintain a hint of sanity throughout the night he needs to get abundantly wasted. 

“Harreh!” Niall roars from the other end of the room, and Harry's head spins towards him noticing that some other guests are already there.

He greets Zayn and Perrie, who just drove up from Bradford. He tries to act as natural as possible, even if he sees a brief flash of annoyance when his eyes meet Zayn's. Perrie's hair, which was a nice shade of purplish grey the last time Harry saw her in London, is now a bright red that she claims 'matches the holiday mood'. Zayn is rolling his eyes so much they'll probably get stuck at some point.

Niall offers him a glass of rosé wine.

“I can't believe you really don't like beer, Harry. It's a real pity,” Perrie says conversationally, taking a sip from her Speckled Hen. Harry chuckles and ventures a look towards the sofa where Louis still seems engrossed in whatever Eleanor is babbling about. For a fraction of a second Harry thinks Louis' eyes were already on him, but he might have imagined it. 

“It's bad for my gluten intolerance.” Harry replies, batting his eyelashes.

“Shut up you fucker. You are not bloody gluten intolerant! He drinks beer, don't listen to him.” Niall hollers and Harry and Gemma exchange an amused look.

“How many pints of Guinness has he had already?” Harry asks her.

“FYI, I am perfectly sober. Just can't stand your pretentious ass, Haz.” Everyone laughs and Niall abandons them to assault the buffet table. 

The atmosphere is cosy and familiar. Harry eats some of the savoury prawn cocktail his sister made, the recipe taken from their mum's secret collection. The cheese scones are tasty as well, and he is blissfully chewing on a crouton when he's approached by Eleanor. 

Eleanor has been Gemma's best friend since Year 7. They went to the same college but Eleanor chose to study Interior Design in Manchester, while Gemma took Media & Communication at King's, and then went into fashion journalism. Eleanor was Harry's first crush when he was eleven and didn't yet know that he preferred boys. He almost considers her like a second sister now, but he still thinks she is gorgeous.

They exchange air kisses and clink glasses.

“I am so glad you’re here. I thought you’d disappeared off the face of the earth,” her tone is serious and she surreptitiously casts her eyes on Louis' back. 

“I know El, it’s been a rough time.” He tries to keep his voice light, but she still seems concerned.

“Yes, but I've heard you have a new job, right?” She smiles broadly and Harry's lips mirror hers.

“Yeah, as a receptionist. Nothing fancy, just a small hotel not far from Hampstead Heath.” Harry finishes the scone and drinks the rest of his wine.

“Oh, stop putting yourself down. It's not like I work in some fancy business, I’m already tired of Manchester!”

“How's Max?” Harry inquires.

“He should be on his way, actually. He's been a bit under the weather lately, just broke up with his boyfriend.”

“I can relate,” he replies dryly, eliciting a sardonic snigger from Eleanor. 

“We need a refill.”

Within an hour Harry's stomach is appeased and he feels pleasantly tipsy. The last two guests, Stan and Max, have finally arrived and the music has been changed from tranquil ballads to a mix of EDM and house music. 

Stan salutes him with a jovial hug and Harry for a moment feels an odd mixture of emotions. The friendship between Stan, Niall and Louis goes way back, the three of them inseparable since college. But Harry and Niall also became pretty good friends along the way, not to mention that Niall is on the brink of becoming his brother-in-law. On the other hand, Harry has never spent much time with Stan apart from a few weekends in Doncaster and occasionally during Christmas holidays, so he doesn't really know where they stand, even if Stan's greeting seemed nothing less than friendly. 

He sits on a lone brass chair in a corner of the living room, near the crackling fireplace, nursing his Appletini. At the far end of the room, near the door that leads onto the balcony, Max, Eleanor, Perrie and Gemma are chatting animatedly, probably about the wedding. He hears his sister's cackle bounce against the walls, even more ringing than when she's sober. She gestures with her hands and bends almost in half when suddenly she has a fit of laughter caused by something Max said. 

Earlier that afternoon, Niall had set a long mahogany table near the kitchen entrance, now hosting a colourful array of liquor bottles, Red Bull cans and juice cartons. Next to the plastic cups there's a dripping ice bucket. Stan watches as Niall and Louis each prepare a concoction, shakers shimmering in the diffused light. The annual Cocktail Competition has apparently begun, and Harry is summoned by Stan to help him judge the drinks of the second round.

“Eugh,” escapes Harry's lips. Niall's mixture of gin, lemon juice and Malibu rum is probably his worst creation ever. Louis' cocktail is really good in comparison, apple and blueberry juice, vodka and a splash of tequila. Harry almost gulps down the syrupy liquid in one go.

“I'd say this year's winner is Louis!” Stan announces, much to Niall's dismay. 

“You're a bunch of arse-lickers,” he barks. All four of them burst out laughing, almost hysterically, Harry holding his belly. 

The sweet concoctions he drank are making Harry's head swim. He checks his phone and sees that it's only 11 pm. He follows Niall out onto the terrace, where they find Zayn leaning on the railing. He has probably spent the last hour chain-smoking out here, Harry thinks. 

“You alright mate?” Niall is smoking the obnoxious cigar that almost killed Harry. 

“No,” Zayn replies sullenly, not even bothering to turn towards them, his face remaining in the shadow. 

“Perrie looks good as a redhead,” Niall lets out casually, and Harry glares at him. He doesn't care that Niall is probably too pissed already.

“Fuck off, Niall,” Zayn snorts.

“He's pissed. What's up with you?” Harry joins Zayn against the banister. 

“I've had the worst Christmas ever. I had to spend Christmas day in fucking Newcastle with Perrie's family. Then we woke up at arse o'clock and drove all the way to Bradford on Boxing Day morning, and we've been there since. I can't take this anymore. I'm stressed. I'm going bald, I swear.”

“Why? I mean, did she do something in particular that got you all worked up?” Harry stares at Zayn with a contrite expression, even if Zayn probably can’t see him in the darkness.

“No, Haz. The fact that I have to stay with her against my will is driving me nuts. I am twenty-four, for Christ's sake, I don't want to be tied down like this. To someone I don't even like anymore.”

“I'm so sorry Zayn, is there anything we can do?” Niall asks, voice raspy from the alcohol and the smoke from the cigar. He puts an arm around Zayn's shoulder.

Zayn shakes his head, face glum, and extracts another cigarette from the pocket of his leather jacket.

The door opens and Stan and Louis step out onto the balcony. Louis' eyes seem to glow in the shadow, burning a hole in Harry's skull.

“What's up?” Stan's cheerfulness contrasts with the dark mood of the other three. No one replies. Electro music creeps faintly from inside the house, the glass of the balcony door vibrating. Zayn offers a cigarette to Louis, but he refuses.

Zayn and Harry look at him with surprise.

“Whaaat?’ he drawls, feigning a hurt expression, “I'm trying to quit,” and he quickly goes back inside, his eyes lingering for a second on Harry's. 

 

Harry doesn't think twice about following Louis inside a minute later, mind too hazy to find a good reason why he shouldn't be doing such a thing. He's shocked by how hot it is in the living room, his blazer heavy on his shoulders and his face flushed. Or, he thinks, it was probably freezing outside but he was too drunk to notice. He removes the blazer and carelessly abandons it on a chair.

The fire is still blazing lively at the far end of the room, the girls and Max sitting on the sofas near the chimney, chatting quietly now, voices light and inebriated. Louis is nowhere to be seen.

Harry walks down the hallway to the master bedroom, the only bedroom on the first floor. He slowly climbs the stairs and turns left to Greg's room. He finds it in the pitch dark, not bothering to turn on one of the lights. The door opens with a click that resonates in the relative silence of the upstairs floor. 

Louis is sitting on the bed, facing the door, in the same position he was when Harry stepped out of the bathroom that afternoon. The lights in the room aren't on, but a thin stripe of moonlight illuminates Louis' frame.

Harry steps in and closes the door behind him. He sits next to Louis, enclosed in the shadow, while Louis gleams in the dim grey light. 

“Can we talk for a sec?” Louis asks, and turns to face Harry. Harry thinks that he looks astonishing in that moment, half of his face embraced by the ray of moonlight, eyelashes elongated and curled in an exquisite curve. His lips slightly parted, and rosy, and looking so soft. 

“Yes, of course,” Harry breathes, barely a whisper. 

“I miss you.” Louis' voice breaks, he clears his throat and continues, “When we went out, three weeks ago, it was horrible. It felt as though we were two strangers, and I know I have no right to say any of what I am going to say, because I left you, and I forced you to move out, but I can't bear the thought of having to treat you like a stranger. I don't want to lose you completely. I want you in my life and this is probably the most selfish request I ever made in my whole life.” His head bows, a defeated sound escaping his lips. 

Harry sits motionless, every muscle in his body heavy as if made of lead. 

“I miss you too,” he manages with slight difficulty, his tongue feeling unusually heavy against his pallet.

“I know I’m an arsehole. I'll probably deserve it if you decide to never speak to me again. But you can't deny that our lives are intertwined. We’re always going to have to face each other, to some extent, and I can't act like we haven't been together for seven years.”

Harry is left speechless, Louis' eyes glimmering, almost black in the obscurity. 

“You're still my best friend. That will never change. Nothing could ever change that, even if we didn't speak to each other for ten years.” Louis' definitive tone moves something inside Harry. 

Here it is, Harry thinks. The clawing pain he feels in his chest is familiar in an uncanny way. Louis' voice echoes in his ears, the word 'friend' on a loop in his brain. 

He feels dizzy. He vaguely registers Louis' hand gripping his. He is conscious of Louis shifting closer and placing his other hand lightly on his cheek. Louis gently coaxes Harry's face towards his, now barely an inch apart, warm breath hitting Harry's slack lips. 

“It's almost midnight,” Harry whispers, mind completely blank, able to only focus on Louis' excruciating proximity. 

After a beat Louis kisses him, delicate, the soft brush of his lips on Harry's. Harry has barely time to think 'friends don't kiss like this', when the bedroom door swings open. 

Louis' hands suddenly aren't on him anymore. Harry tries to make out who the intruder is, but they are gone in a second. Louis abruptly stands up.

“I am so sorry. I’m such a prick, I am so sorry Harry.” Louis' hands are gripping his hair, “I shouldn't have done this. Say something, please. I don't want to keep losing you.”

“What do you want me to say?” Harry replies in an urgent tone.

“We can't act like strangers. We can try to act friendly around each other, as a beginning. Then, maybe, one day, we could be friends.” Louis' tone is hopeful and Harry is at a loss for words.

Harry wants to say, “No, I don't want to be your friend. I can never be your friend.” Inside he feels numb, but his head is spinning.

Louis is staring at him, expression unreadable. They hear someone coming up the stairs.

“You two fuckers come down, it's five to midnight,” Niall's tone is stiff and unusual. 

Harry stands up without sparing a second glance to Louis and follows Niall downstairs, trying to push what just happened at the back of his mind.

He hears Louis' steps behind him. 

Out on the terrace there are a few fireworks lined up, waiting to be lit. An empty flute is shoved into Harry's hand.

He looks around, wonders who might have seen them kiss. They all deliberately avoid his gaze.

10...9...8...7...6...5...4...3...2...1…

Niall pops a bottle of champagne.


	2. To the edge of doom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am so happy I am posting the last part!  
> Hope you won't be disappointed.

_O no; it is an ever-fixed mark, ___  
_That looks on tempests, and is never shaken;_  
_It is the star to every wandering bark,_  
_Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken._

* 

It is remarkable how one person can feel so different from how they felt before after only a very short period of time. It is 2015, and Harry finds himself spending any spare time he has applying for PGCEs and Teacher Training courses at every university in London. He is very aware that, if he actually manages to get into a teaching programme, he will have to find at least another job and probably take out a student loan. It is too late to apply for scholarships and he is so mad at himself that he waited so long to send his applications. He really wants to get his life back together, and as much as he enjoys working at the hotel, he doesn't think he can actually make a career out of it. At least not one that will be able to fulfill his personal aspirations. 

He doesn't tell anyone about this, too afraid he will jinx it and end up disappointing everyone, including himself. His family had stopped pressuring him about his career choices when they first knew Louis was leaving him, and Harry hadn't been in the mental state to think properly about his future in the months before January. 

But as January goes by, Harry feels more and more determined to start anew with his life. His sessions with Dr. Bass are now twice weekly; she seems satisfied about Harry's progresses and Harry himself thinks he is doing well, the best he has been since he was no longer happily married. The preparations for the wedding are proceeding rather smoothly, to everyone's surprise, and Gemma has already found the perfect location in East London. 

Louis doesn't text nor call Harry after what happened on New Year's Eve. Not that Harry was expecting them to readily become best friends after that. To be honest, Harry wasn't really thinking anything of the situation, for if he were to stop and really consider what happened with Louis that night, he wouldn't be able to stop brooding about it. He didn't want to ponder on what it had all meant, why did Louis tell him he didn't want to lose him, didn't want them to act like strangers; why did Louis almost kiss him. 

Harry is able to block any Louis related thoughts for a month, until midnight on the first of February, when he receives a 'happy birthday' text with three smiley emojis from Louis. He doesn't sleep much that night, even if he went to bed early after a long and tiring Saturday shift at the hotel. He wakes up to the smell of breakfast, Zayn bringing it to Harry in bed.

“You are spoiling me,” Harry protests, but he immediately attacks his scrambled eggs.

“Happy birthday!” Zayn says brightly, and he adds, 'Tonight we're going out for drinks.'

Harry makes a displeased noise, but he knows he can't get out of this one. Zayn had also made him change his working schedule so he doesn't have to work that Monday.

What Harry wasn't expecting though, is that Louis would also be attending his improvised birthday night out. He's terrified when he first sees him and Louis greets him with a hug, but in the end the night is quite pleasant. Niall is his usual beaming self, fueled by countless pints of Guinness and contagious in his cheerfulness. Zayn is still a bit on edge due to the situation with Perrie, but he seems to be enjoying himself nonetheless. Harry gets spectacularly smashed, and on the way back to the bus station he keeps giggling and he folds the wing mirrors of every parked car they pass. He and Louis hadn't really talked that night apart from a bit of banter with the other two, but Harry thinks he could get used to this new situation.

He is absolutely sure he will never get used to being friends with Louis. That is his first thought when he wakes up the next morning, his head pounding and a bitter, stale taste in his mouth. Images from the night before swim in his foggy mind. How natural and familiar it had felt to spend time with his two best friends and Louis. It had dangerously felt like the good old times, except that in those good old times Louis had been his everything, while now they barely act like acquaintances. He grabs his phone and opens the Whatsapp application. He has a text from Louis:

_I'm really glad about last night, missed spending time with the lads, and you. X_

Harry smiles and replies, and from there they seamlessly flow into a conversation; Louis complains about his Monday morning at work, Harry gloats over the fact that he had the day off; they chat about their day and trivial topics like what they are going to watch that night on the telly. It's a pleasant feeling, being able to easily exchange messages with Louis like they always used to. But Harry knows this is nothing like before; this is Louis trying to recuperate a semblance of friendship with Harry, probably only because he feels guilty that they spent so many months without being in contact. 

Harry tells himself this; he doesn't let even a tiny glimmer of hope peep into his mind. He can't afford to expect anything from Louis now, he can't afford to let his mind wander and daydream about a chance to rebuild what Louis and him once had. 

*

“Tell me again why you’re here, and not at Niall's fitting.” Gemma looks at him with a knowing smirk. Harry decided to join in while Eleanor and their cousins, Claire and Julia, try out bridesmaid dresses.

They are sitting on a plush sofa, waiting for their cousins and Eleanor to re-emerge from the fitting rooms. Anne isn't there, but she had visited them in London when Gemma had to find the wedding dress.

“I am still offended I don't get to be best man,” Harry replies, but he knows that is a lie.

“Bullshit, you don't want to see Louis.”

“What on earth are you talking about?” Harry almost yells, and immediately feels embarrassed.

“Harry, I know we haven't talked properly lately.”

“We talk all the time!”

“Yeah, about the wedding. We haven't really talked in a while.”

“You're right Gem, but there's nothing to talk about.”

Gemma doesn't answer, but Harry knows she will bring it up again later. 

In the end they pick knee-length, moderately low-cut lavender chiffon dresses. They fit perfectly with the general wedding colour palette, and the girls look stunning in them. Even if Harry insists the colour is wisteria, not lavender. 

Gemma drives Eleanor, Claire and Julia to the station, and after they've said their goodbyes Gemma insists Harry has dinner with her. Niall is apparently still out with Louis, so he won't be home till later that night. 

“So, where do you and Louis actually stand at the moment?” Gemma begins. Harry almost chokes on his salad.

“Gemma, where did you learn to be so tactful?”

“Don't sass me, Harry. I know something is going on. I have a right to know, I am worried about you.” Gemma looks genuinely concerned. Harry considers telling her everything. Their almost-kiss at the party, how Louis claimed he wants to be friends with him. How they frequently talk via message now, but they are still pretty awkward around each other.

“Nothing is going on, believe me.” Harry says, almost disappointed.

“Listen Harry, I know this is a delicate matter, and that you were really crushed when things with Louis ended. But I...” Gemma is cut off by Harry grunting.

“I don't want to talk about this. It's been almost a year, I feel like all I ever do is talk about mine and Louis' break up. I'm sick of discussing it, I have a therapist for that.” He tries not to sound too rude, but Gemma is shaking her head, an odd glint in her eyes.

“I saw you at the party,” she calmly states, then presses her lips in a thin line, eyebrows slightly raised.

For a moment Harry thinks he could play dumb, deny it, say he doesn't have any idea what his sister is talking about. But she would probably tease and torment him until he gives in and spills the beans anyway, so in the end he'll be better off if he talks right away.

“Nothing happened. We just talked a bit, alone.”

“You were kissing him!” Gemma exclaims, disbelieving.

'First of all,' Harry says, finger pointed at her, 'he was kissing me. And it was just a peck. Doesn't mean anything.'

Harry could go on for an hour talking about what happened between him and Louis at Niall's house. He could belittle it and try to convince himself that the kiss was just something Louis did without thinking, only because he was drunk and Harry was there, and it was almost midnight. He would've done with literally anyone else, it didn't even have anything to do with Harry. Yes, Harry is a real expert in rationalising and bringing himself down at the same time.

“You're incredible.” Gemma rebuts, again shaking her head. 

They eat their food in silence for a while, Harry sneaking a few glances towards his sister, mind furiously going over their conversation. He doesn't understand what Gemma is trying to achieve. She already knows how much he is still in love with Louis. 

“I don't want this to be an interrogation,” she says while they are waiting for the bill, “I just want to know what happened. And how you feel about it.” Her teasing tone is gone; if anything she looks rather concerned now. 

“He said he wants to be friends with me. How lame is that, eh?” Harry snorts.

“But he kissed you.” Gemma's features are tinged with confusion.

'I know.' Harry feels defeated, he doesn't know why or by what. His shoulders sag and he sees a sympathetic smile on Gemma's face. 

“You haven't talked about it.” It's a not a question, but Harry utters a weak 'no' nevertheless. 

“We haven't really talked about that night, at all.”

“You know you should've.”

“I know, don't lecture me now. I already feel pretty shitty about it.”

“I don't want to lecture you. I just want to make sure you do the right thing, because I care. And I don't care that Louis is Niall's best friend, you're still my brother. I will not stand watching while he hurts you all over again,” Gemma says firmly, looking him straight in the eyes, with a fierce look that is almost intimidating. 

“Gemma, I swear he won't. We'll have to talk sooner or later, I know that. But, just...you haven't told Niall, right?”

“No, don't worry. Contrary to popular belief, I can keep a secret from my fiancé.” Gemma laughs, but immediately resumes her serious expression. 

“Well, I want to know what's going on with you. So don't leave me in the dark in the future, yeah?”

'I won't.' Gemma hugs him, and he clings to her a bit too much maybe, because she is pushing him and making a face after a few seconds. 'I give you an inch, and you take a yard,’ she complains, but her lips are curled in a smile.

“I'll take the tube, you don't have to give me a lift back.”

They part ways and Harry knows he won’t talk to her if something happens. He can't help the way he is, he knows himself. 

*

Nothing happens during the weeks before the wedding. 

Harry keeps telling himself that, but he feels a slight change in the way Louis acts when they are around each other. By then, it is a normal occurrence for Zayn and Harry to have nights out with Louis and Niall, sometimes with other people, usually friends from uni; sometimes Stan joins them when he is visiting from Doncaster. 

Harry sees that Louis is really trying to act like a friend towards him, and Harry acts as natural as possible. But he can't _not_ think about what they were, he knows he won't ever be able to really see Louis as only a friend. And he is worried others can tell he is still far gone for him, so he does all he can to make it look like he is perfectly fine with the current situation. 

For all he knows, Louis could be with someone. He doesn't ask, though, and no one tells him, and it's not like the two of them ever talk about their love life when they are out with the others.

Louis has always been a very tactile person; even before they got together he would randomly touch Harry or get in bed with him, only because he likes to be close to the people he cares about. He has always done that with his mates, his sisters, with everyone basically. He is a very affectionate friend, very demonstrative. 

So Harry doesn't freak out when Louis grabs his wrist one night, while they are sitting next to each other in a pub. And he doesn't think anything of it when, one night, instead of the pat on the back or the one armed hug he usually receives, Harry gets a kiss on the cheek as a goodbye.

It's just a kiss on the cheek, Harry thinks. Insignificant, irrelevant. 

Louis doesn't look at him after that, as if he is afraid Harry will tell him off or something. Harry is left like that, gaping, his hand on his face, the skin under his palm flaming hot despite the March chill. Zayn looks at him funny, but doesn't comment.

It becomes a habit then, apparently. When they depart, Louis kisses him on the cheek, as if that is the most natural thing to do. And Harry is ok with that, he is perfectly fine. 

Nothing happens, nothing has happened, and they never talk about what had happened on New Year's Eve. Everything's fine.

*

It's not fine at all. 

“This is probably the lamest stag do in the history of the world,” Niall yells, much to everyone's chagrin. 

“Why on earth are you throwing a tantrum now?” Louis replies, shoving another shot in Niall's hand.

They are in a seedy pub at the moment, everyone wearing their personalised t-shirts. Niall is wearing one that says 'I am the stag' bearing an image of a sad, cartoonish stag underneath the slogan. Louis' t-shirt, 'Don't worry I am the best man', attracted a few looks from a table of middle aged women they passed earlier. Harry glared at them only a little, he was still too sober to act silly.

Harry, Zayn and Stan are wearing t-shirts with the print 'Niall's stag do' on the front and 'Buy him a pint' on the back. How lame. Harry knew he should've gone to the hen party. 

“Zaynie,” Louis is looking at Zayn with mischief in his eyes, “Now that you're a single man, I think you should do something to entertain our dear friend Niall.”

Zayn has a horrified look on his face, but Harry already knows he will indulge anything Louis asks of him. He always does. And yes, finally Zayn had the courage to break up with Perrie. Harry feels quite proud of him. Even if she keeps calling him and she personally went to see Zayn's mum in Bradford last weekend, Harry thinks she will soon accept that it's over. 

“And what on earth should I do, Louis?”

“You could ask those lovely, lovely ladies over there if they want to join us,” Louis replies with a bright smile.

Zayn sighs. Niall is looking at him expectantly, Harry and Stan are already laughing like lunatics and Louis has a fake smile plastered on his face. 

They observe the scene from a distance, barely able to contain their loud cackling. Zayn is a shy person, even when he is drunk, but he somehow manages to convince the three women to join them. Now that Harry properly takes them in, they aren't as old as he first thought. Probably not older than forty, and they are quite good-looking. 

Turns out they are really fun, and they decide to join the stag do and head with them to a club. One of them, Harry thinks her name is Martha, is glued to Louis' side. Harry knows Louis isn't into women, yet he can't help but feel a little pang of jealousy when she touches his arm, or when she leans in to listen to what he's saying in her ear over the loud music. Louis can be quite charming, and he can flirt with virtually anyone, so it's no wonder this woman looks completely infatuated. 

It doesn't last long though; Louis gets rid of her after she blatantly tries to rub her bum on his groin. Harry observes the scene from where he is sitting in Zayn's company, because of course Zayn doesn't dance. 

Niall and Stan are still dancing with them, but Martha looks really disappointed.  
Louis sits next to Harry and steals a sip of his drink.

“Poor Martha,” he says into Louis' ear, catching a whiff of his cologne before he moves his head back to see his reaction. Louis chuckles and then settles on a foxy smile, one that usually promises nothing good. 

“Not my type,” Louis deadpans, staring at him. 

Harry looks away after a second too long, and he feels his stomach flutter and his heartbeat speed up. He busies himself with his drink, and finishes it maybe a bit too quickly. Suddenly, Louis is touching his hair. Harry loves having his hair touched and Louis used to give him mean head massages. It's his weak spot probably, he always gets super turned on when someone touches his hair or tugs on it. Harry instantly relaxes and turns his head to see Louis' face. 

Louis is still staring at him.

“Your hair's really long,” he says directly in Harry's ear.

“Do you like it?”

Louis nods eagerly and his hand almost imperceptibly pulls on one of Harry's curls. Harry is probably shooting daggers with his eyes, but Louis' smile doesn't waver the tiniest bit. 

Harry feels frozen, like that night in Greg's bedroom. His limbs are heavy like lead, and his eyes are hooked to Louis' dark pupils, glowing even in the dark of the club. He is vaguely aware that Zayn is sitting beside him, but he couldn't care less. In that moment he feels like they are alone, even if they are surrounded by hundreds of people and loud, obnoxious music. Harry doesn't hear anything apart from the rush of blood in his ears. 

Louis is leaning towards him, his body completely facing Harry's.

Harry feels hot, moist lips covering his right cheek. The kiss lasts for a couple seconds, then Louis is looking at him again, his smirk back in place and his hand still massaging Harry's scalp.  
Harry sighs, aware that he was probably holding his breath unconsciously.

Louis abruptly removes his hand.

“You bastards!” Niall shouts, looking completely smashed and a bit sweaty. “You abandoned me. Those girls were proper MILFs.”

Apparently, their new female friends have called it a night. Stan and Niall desperately want to go to a strip club now, and they even managed to convince Zayn to go with them.

“You're the worst best man ever.” Niall is very pissed, and he's pointing an accusatory finger at Louis.

“You know I have work tomorrow morning, I can't go in looking like a zombie.”

They are now standing outside of the club. Zayn is smoking a cigarette, and he looks rather bored for someone who is newly single and about to go to a gentlemen's club. 

Niall is trying to convince Louis and Harry to go with them, but Louis is firm in his decision to let the three of them go, and he keeps throwing loaded glances towards Harry. 

Harry is past questioning what all of this means, but – Louis or not Louis – he doesn't really feel like going to a strip club, so he is as adamant as Louis.

Niall is too drunk to really be mean to them, and they should hurry up if they want to arrive there at a decent hour. So Louis and Harry are left alone.

“I left my car in front of Niall's place,” Louis says as soon as the taxi with the other three has gone.

“'I can get a taxi, don’t worry, I have enough money,” Harry says, but Louis starts to walk so he follows suit.

“No, I insist. I can give you a lift home.” Louis now sounds too polite. Harry liked him better while they were still in the club. 

He suddenly grabs Louis' hand in his, and if Louis is surprised he doesn't let it show in the slightest. Now, though, it almost appears like Louis is afraid to look him in the eye, so they make their way to his car in a tense silence. 

Louis untangles his hand from Harry's and gets in the driver's seat without a word. The radio fills the silence on their way to Harry's flat, and Harry can't stop staring at Louis. His hands are gripping the steering wheel, knuckles almost white, lips pressed tight and body visibly stiff. The way his features are caught in the streetlights is mesmerising, and Harry almost doesn't realise that the car has stopped and they are now in front of his flat. 

Louis is still staring ahead of him, and Harry can't see his expression. He doesn't know what to do, what to say. He doesn't think while he puts his hand on the nape of Louis' neck and gently coaxes him to turn his face towards him.

Louis has a tiny, cryptic smile on his face. He is leaning towards Harry, never breaking eye contact, and before he knows how it happened Harry feels Louis kissing him. Properly now, not one of the half-assed cheek kisses Louis has been giving him lately. Harry realises his eyes are still open. He shuts them and starts kissing Louis back, his mouth instantly opening to welcome Louis' tongue. It's not tender for long, within a few seconds Louis is kissing him hard, tongue licking into Harry's mouth with urgency, his hands tangled in Harry's hair, tugging.

A moan escapes Harry's mouth at a particularly hard pull, and with a groan Louis separates their mouths and literally throws himself on Harry's lap. 

Harry is momentarily breathless. They stare into each other's eyes for a second.

And without any warning it is all coming back. Their first kiss; their first time; their happy times and their sad times. When Louis proposed; their wedding vows, now meaningless words they once thought held the truth of their relationship. 

Harry feels all his senses in overload, the scent of Louis' skin intoxicating. Something he didn't think he would have the chance to experience again, the taste of Louis' tongue on his. They are kissing again, with a bit less urgency, now savouring each other as if they were doing it for the first time ever. 

Harry's hands are roaming Louis' body, thoughtlessly caressing his back, shoulders, his sides. He tangles his hands in Louis' soft hair, just because he can. He gets to be reminded with an unexpected intensity what it was like to call Louis' body his, to be able to touch him everywhere he wanted, to get him all worked up and then let Louis have his way with him. 

Louis starts to grind their hips together then, and Harry feels his own hard cock sliding next to Louis' through the fabric of their trousers. Louis' body slides slightly backwards and his hand travels down Harry's neck and chest to his stomach. 

Harry feels his abs tense up, almost painfully, when fingers graze the sensible skin of his tummy. Louis' hand is on his dick then, a hard press of his palm to Harry's shaft, then a firm grip that elicits a whimper from Harry's lips. 

“Wait a second,” Harry blurts out. He stills then, feeling like somebody just slapped him violently. 

Louis must feel Harry's body go stiff, because he sighs and removes his hand from his crotch. Slowly, Louis lifts himself and sits back on the driver's seat. Harry doesn't like the loss of contact though, so he immediately grabs Louis' hand and holds it between them. Louis kisses him, tenderly this time, and rests their foreheads together. 

“Why did we stop...I mean,” Louis starts, his breath hot between them, “I thought you wanted it.”

Harry lets out an exasperated chuckle.

“Yes, yes I want it,” he whispers, eyes closed and forehead still pressed to Louis'. “But not like this.”

It's almost physically painful to reject Louis like that, but even if Harry's mind is hazy, he knows they were about to make a big mistake. His cock is still hard and aching in his pants, and he is still trying to slow his breathing down to a normal pace. He tries to ground himself; he closes his eyes and inhales deeply, focused on Louis' hand in his.

“I want you, you know that,” he eventually says. “But it's all fucked up. We can't shag and act like it never happened. Or like it meant nothing.”

Louis is shaking his head, grip on Harry's hand tighter then before.

“I understand, Harry. We can't. We....” Louis trails off, eyes wandering towards the dark street outside. “It could never mean nothing. Not with you.”

“Then what does this all mean?” Harry's tone is frustrated, urgent. Louis still isn’t looking at him, and Harry doesn't like it at all.

“We've been together for seven years,” Louis turns to looks at him, his eyes still dark with arousal.

“I know that. Is that why you said you missed me? Just because we've been together for long, and, I mean, it felt like a habit in the end. Being with me.”

“No, no. I want you, but I get that you want to keep your distance. I don't deserve you anymore.”

“What the hell are you talking about Louis? You left me.” Harry is starting to get upset, an uneasy sensation blooming in his chest.

“Yes I know, and now here I am trying to get in your pants.” Louis' lips are curled up in a self-deprecating smile while he speaks. “I’m a proper asshole, aren’t I?”

“Why are saying this now?”

“I'm just so confused, Harry,” Louis folds his right arm on the steering wheel and rests his head on it, almost a desperate gesture. 

“About what, Louis? What's going on?”

Louis looks like he could almost cry in that moment, and Harry doesn't want that to happen. He carefully puts his hand on Louis' back, his touch far less frantic than how it had been mere minutes ago. His palms tingle nonetheless when he feels Louis' heartbeat under his skin. 

Louis' ragged breathing slowly returns to normal. He lifts his head and gazes back at Harry, looking miserable.

Harry is suddenly afraid he knows what is upsetting Louis so much. He desperately wants to be wrong though.

“Is there someone else? Are you seeing someone?” Harry’s voice is faint, the words heavy on his tongue. 

As soon as the question leaves Harry's mouth, Louis closes his eyes and bows his head down. 

Harry wants to choke. He feels his heart hit the bottom of his stomach, at first unable to properly understand what has just happened. Louis must sense his distressed state, because he starts speaking in an urgent tone.

“I am not with someone, Harry. I swear. But there is someone else.”

Harry is shocked; he honestly doesn't know how he manages to ask Louis if he knows him.

“No, I... I met him a little bit before you moved out. We worked together for a while, and we became really good friends.”

Harry doesn't want to hear this, he doesn't want to be there in that moment. He briefly considers getting out of the car and getting it over with, but he seems stuck to the passenger seat. He lets go of Louis' hand as if it was infected. Louis has a guilty look on his face, his mouth curved downward.

“We’re not together, me and this person. We're just friends, but I think he's in love with me.”

Harry wants to say 'Fuck you' and storm out of the car, but he stays still.

“And do you love him?” He doesn't know why he asks that, probably because of a masochistic drive he didn't know he had developed.

Louis nods. Harry thinks he is about to throw up.

“I love him, yes. But I don't think I'm in love with him.”

“You don't think,” Harry repeats blankly.

“I’m confused,” Louis reiterates, “I still have feelings for you.”

Harry opens the passenger door, overwhelmed, unable to stand to hear another word. All at once, he feels extremely tired, his body aching all over and in dire need of sleep.

“What do you expect me to say, Louis? I can't tell you how you feel about him. Sort it out for yourself,” Harry says sternly. He gets out of the car, relishing the cool night air hitting his heated cheeks.

“You have a right to be mad at me.” Louis says in a low voice, almost inaudible.

“See you at the wedding Louis.” Harry does his best to control his nerves and not slam the door too much.

The wedding is in less than twelve hours, anyway. Harry needs to get a few hours of sleep, and then to do his best to make himself presentable and arrive in East London at least before 1pm. Even if he isn't best man, he still has to attend to his groomsmen duties, and that includes ushering guests to the right seats. 

He flops into bed still completely dressed, trying hard not to think about the feeling of Louis' mouth on his, his hands touching him anywhere they can reach, his body on top of his, their groins pressed together. The sensation is still so vivid in his mind that his body physically reacts to his thoughts, his erection coming back to life more painful than before, if possible.

But there's this other guy, he remembers. And it's like a shadow obscuring the memory of what almost happened in Louis' car. He feels almost betrayed, even if that doesn't make any sense. Louis and this guy weren’t together, Louis had assured him. But, Harry thinks with dread, can he trust Louis? Can he trust him now, after all that has happened? It's so fucked up that Harry questions Louis' every word now, when until less than a year ago he would've trusted him with his life. He probably did, and that could be one of the reasons why it became too much.

Eventually he dozed off, although not to a restorative sleep, but a dreamless, agitated, early morning nap.

*

He wakes up feeling more sullen than he had a few hours before. He has a mild headache, his eyes puffy and itchy. He drags himself out of bed, only to find Zayn dressed like last night, shuffling in the kitchen.

“When did you get home?” Harry mumbles, rubbing his eyes.

“Couple hours ago,” Zayn answers, nonchalant, “I took a nap on the couch, I couldn't be arsed to change into something comfy.” He shrugs, not looking hungover at all. Harry envies him.

“Gemma is going to be so happy about Niall's state later.” Harry chuckles feebly, but his headache doesn't agree. He grabs some paracetamol and water from the counter. He takes a seat, downs two pills and sighs heavily.

Zayn is watching his every movement, as if he already knows something's up.

“Something you need to tell me?”

Harry takes a deep breath and he starts telling Zayn what happened after they parted ways last night. Zayn is watching him with a blank expression in the beginning, but then his eyebrows progressively move up to his hairline. When Harry tells him they ended up snogging in Louis' car, Zayn looks at him almost baffled, eyes gawking,

“You two were acting weirdly last night, I sensed something was going on.” Zayn is careful with his words; Harry can see he doesn't know how to react. He looks like he can't decide if he should be glad or if he should scold Harry. 

“Then what happened? Don't tell me you shagged him.” 

Harry makes a strangled noise, hands covering his face. 

“No, fuck. I came to my senses. We stopped, before anything happened.” Harry pauses for a second, before adding, “Luckily.” 

“Well, I agree that it wasn't exactly an ideal situation,” Zayn counters, sipping what was probably his third cup of tea. “And then? What did he say?”

Harry recounts their conversation, and Zayn appears even more bewildered. “Do you know anything about this bloke?” Harry enquires, eyeing Zayn with suspicion.

“Not gonna lie Harry, I knew he had this new friend he spends a lot of time with,” he admits, “but I had no idea something was going on.” Zayn puts his mug in the sink and turns around, staring at Harry with a serious expression. “He says he still has feelings for you though. So I don't think he cares that much about this other bloke.”

Harry really wants to believe him.

Harry takes a quick shower and then gets dressed for the wedding. He and Zayn have matching dark blue suits, complete with a lavender pocket-handkerchief. Harry helps Zayn to style his quiff, while he leaves his own hair down, dark waves flowing to his shoulders. 

They get to Ivory Grand Hotel by taxi, in a reasonable time considering it's a Saturday. Harry is stunned when he sees the hall ready for the ceremony. There are at least two hundred white chairs decorated with lilac ribbons, arranged in two neat rows. There are flowers everywhere, and big floor to ceiling windows that let the afternoon rays of sun flood inside.

Niall's already there, and Harry, Stan and Zayn are given instructions on how to arrange the guests as they arrive. Harry thinks Niall looks oddly calm; he imagined he would've been at least a bit nervous. 

Harry takes all the guests to their seats, his mum and closest relatives in the front rows; Niall's family on the right, Harry's on the left.

When Gemma hasn’t yet turned up forty-five minutes later, Niall looks a lot less confident. He is fiddling with the flower pinned to his chest, exchanging worried glances with the officiant and Louis. 

Harry tries not to think about last night. His sister is about to get married to one of his best friends. He needs to be focused on that. The bridesmaids are looking at Niall's nervous expression with mirth in their eyes, and when finally Gemma appears with Des in the back of the hall, the room erupts with clapping. 

The ceremony is over in a blur. Harry is openly weeping by the time they say 'I do' and he isn't ashamed in the least. Someone hands him a tissue and he gratefully wipes at his eyes, unable to pry his gaze from Gemma and Niall, who are now hugging tightly. Everyone around him is clapping and cheering, and he dares to look at Louis. He looks stunning, not only because he looks otherworldly beautiful in his best man suit, but especially because his eyes are sparkling and he looks ecstatic. Harry doesn't recall the last time he saw Louis looking that happy; it was probably at their own wedding. 

The celebrations move into the adjacent dinner hall for the reception. Harry and Zayn part ways when Harry is caught in conversations with his relatives. He hasn't seen most of them in years, so it's a bit awkward, but he manages to not embarrass himself too much. When he finally succeeded in getting rid of Aunt Petunia in order to go and find the others, he had already downed three glasses of champagne. He orders a drink at the open bar and looks for someone under the age of sixty-five. 

He sees Zayn, Eleanor, Max and Stan standing by the far end of the bar; they seem to be talking about the ceremony. Two of Louis' sisters are there too. Harry greets Lottie and Fizzy, and he thinks it's really nice to see them after more than a year. They hug and join the others in conversation. Harry wonders where Louis is, but after a few minutes he sees him approaching their way.

He isn't alone though.

Harry thinks he is going to punch his newlywed sister as soon as he sees her. Neither her nor Niall had apparently deemed it necessary to tell him Louis would have a plus one. This plus one is currently walking right behind him, a hand on the small of Louis' back. The guy is rather tall, well-built and overall quite good-looking. He has short brown hair, warm hazel eyes, plump lips and a chiseled jawline. Harry instantly hates him. He briefly pictures himself punching the guy as well. However, even if he looks a tad shorter, this plus one bloke appears sturdier than Harry. 

Louis has a big smile on his face, although it falters a bit when he makes eyes contact with Harry.

“Hey,” he greets them, “How's everyone?” He takes a step back and puts a hand on the bloke's shoulder. “This is Liam.”

Liam is looking at them with a genuine, warm smile. He shakes everyone's hand, saying “Liam Payne, nice to meet you” and “It's a pleasure”.

Harry introduces himself, trying to act as politely as possible. He registers Louis' concerned expression, immediately relaxing when Harry and Liam's handshake is over. Harry feels all eyes on him, but he forces himself to keep a straight face and a tight smile plastered on his lips. 

Harry isn't sulking, he is just quietly enjoying himself. If he doesn't talk to anyone it’s only because he is busy with his drink. When it's time to take his seat at the head table, he is grateful that Louis is sitting at the furthest end from him. Gemma and Niall are beaming, seemingly unable to take their eyes off each other. Harry doesn't want to bother anyone with his suddenly sour mood, so he mostly ignores his family during dinner, trying really hard to not make eye contact with Louis. 

“Do you plan to remain in silence all night?” Zayn asks him after the second course has been served, guests starting to disband from their respective tables as they wait for the speeches and the cake-cutting. 

Harry is now sitting at Zayn's table, Stan chatting with Louis' sisters next to them. Liam was at their table, but he appears to have decided to join Louis at the head table now.

“Sod off, Zayn. This is terrible, a distater.” Harry is aware he sounds a bit over-dramatic, but that's the wine speaking. “They could've told me Louis was bringing someone. Gemma won't ever hear the end of this.” 

“Harry, they're just friends. I am sure they would've told you if they were aware something's going on between them, and anyway,” Zayn trails off. “Louis made it clear they aren't dating.”

“Why are you suddenly jumping to his defense?” Harry can't believe Zayn is not taking his side.

“I'm not defending him. I'm just saying that Louis isn't an asshole, you know that. If he told you they're not together and that he still feels something for you, you have to believe him.” Harry is still a bit surprised by Zayn's words, but he tries to calm down and stop obsessing over Liam and Louis.

After the cake-cutting though, when almost no one is completely sober and the tables have been moved to make room for the dance floor, Harry notices Louis and Liam have disappeared. He watches Niall and Gemma dance, then everyone is joining them and Harry is dragged onto the dance floor by Zayn. Zayn must be more drunk than Harry thought if he's dancing, even if Harry suspects he's only doing it to distract him. 

“Where the hell is my best man?” Niall hollers at one point, and Harry hadn’t thought Niall was able to separate his lips from Gemma's, let alone notice Louis' prolonged absence. Images start to bloom at the front of Harry's mind. Louis and Liam hidden somewhere quiet, away from the noisy celebrations. Liam crowding Louis against the wall, their chests pressed together. Louis letting this guy that isn't Harry have him, while Louis pants and writhes beneath him. 

Harry shakes off the unpleasant feeling rising in his throat. He suddenly isn't in the mood to dance anymore. He wanders aimlessly through the hall until he plops down on a chair next to some of Niall's relatives that he doesn't recognize. He doesn't know how long he sits there, fiddling with his phone, actively blocking from his mind images of Louis and Liam. 

When he raises his gaze again, it appears a lot of guests have already left. His mum and Robin had said their goodbyes half an hour earlier, most of their relatives already gone. Niall's parents are leaving in that moment. 

Harry stands up and starts walking towards them, in time to see Louis appear at their side. He stops in his tracks and observes Louis. He doesn't exactly look like someone who just spent the last hour making out with a hot guy; he just looks a bit tired. His bowtie undone and hanging down, the circles under his eyes slightly more prominent than before. Liam is nowhere to be seen. 

At 3am the party is definitely drawing to an end. The DJ abdicated, several waiters collected the various discarded glasses scattered through the room, and out of the two hundred guests, only those who had been at the New Year’s Eve party remain. They're all sitting across a table, visibly tired. Niall and Gemma are still disgustingly sweet with each other, even while Stan and Zayn are teasing them about how they trashed Niall's car. 

Harry and Louis haven't spoken a single word to each other all night, and Harry thinks the others have noticed it, too. Zayn has his hand around Harry's shoulder, while Louis sneak glances in their direction. Harry is knackered though, the sleepless night he had catching up to him. His head is fuzzy and he doesn't think he can remain alert for much longer; he feels the deep need of many hours of sleep. 

Eventually everyone is going home. They say their goodbyes outside, where Niall and Gemma spend twenty minutes figuring out how to get rid of the debris that seems to cover Niall's car entirely. It's a bit anticlimactic, Harry thinks. The reception was a success overall; the food was delicious and everyone loved the cake and had a good time. But Harry still has that nagging feeling inside of him that he doesn't seem able to shake off completely. He hated seeing Louis with someone else, and he hates that they hadn't talked at all, even if he is mad at him.

That's why, as he and Zayn are saying farewell to the others, Harry feels himself go stiff in Louis’ hug and doesn't reciprocate at all. Louis looks at him with a puzzled expression, but Harry is quick to look away, following Zayn to the awaiting taxi.

*

Harry wakes up at 4pm the day after the wedding, and he feels rather restored. He is still relaxing in the warmth of his bed, when Zayn walks into his room to announce that he has a date.

“Who are you going out with?!” 

“Zoe. I told you she loves me.” Zayn replies with a dreamy expression.

“You are going to shag your boss, that's so unprofessional.” Harry scolds him, but he is grinning. He's genuinely happy for Zayn.

“Yes, we just can't hide our love,” he jokes, lying down next to Harry on his side, his head propped up on his right hand. “Do you wanna talk about last night?”

“You mean about how Louis probably spent the night balls deep in that bloke? No thanks.” Harry grunts, and pulls the duvet over his face. Zayn pokes his side, in a failed attempt to cheer him up. 

“Harry, I'm sorry. But I still think you need to talk to him. Either the two of you try to sort things out, as it’s clear he still isn't over you, or you try to move on. For real this time.” 

Zayn is right. Harry sighs and turns on his back, eyes trained on the ceiling.

“You're right, but I'm afraid he'll tell me he wants to be with Liam. I can't bear the thought of seeing him with someone else, I'd rather move to a different city.” he says in a dramatic tone.

“Don't be ridiculous, your life is here. Wait a few days; you don't have to talk to him right away. You'll be ok tonight?”

“Of course, you don't have to babysit me.” 

Zayn gets up and goes to his room to get ready. Harry doesn't feel like leaving his bed yet. He opens the top drawer of his bedside table, takes out his old journal and starts to browse through it. He finds the photograph of him and Louis in front of the wisteria tree. It's all fucked up now, he grimly thinks. He spent the last year of his life grieving for the end of his marriage, the loss of his best friend and lover. And now that it almost looked like he was about to put the pieces of his life back together, Louis was once again turning his existence upside down. 

Harry never stopped loving him, he's sure of that. But he was maybe getting close to accepting that that part of his life, the part where Louis had been his constant star, was really over. Now, though, he’s not so sure. Louis had really looked confused on Niall’s stag night, and it was clear he still wanted Harry, in the physical sense of the word at least, just as much as Harry wanted him. But he has no idea what he's supposed to do now; he's too afraid of being rejected for this other, new person, who has maybe taken his spot in Louis' life. 

Harry puts the photo back and carefully hides the journal behind the pile of books on his bedside table. He decides he feels rather gross and sweaty, so he gets up to have a long, hot shower. 

When he gets out of the steaming bathroom, Zayn is heading out for his date. Harry applies a product to his hair, so that it will be more curly and soft, and dries it off. He dresses in a pair of warm sweats and his lilac jumper, now so frayed he wears it only around the house. 

After he has eaten an improvised turkey sandwich, he settles on the sofa with a mug of piping hot tea and feels ready to spend the rest of the night snoozing in front of the telly. After about twenty minutes though, he hears the doorbell ring. He gets up from the couch, wondering who the hell it might be and if maybe Zayn had forgotten to take his keys.

When he opens the door, though, he is greeted by the vision of a disheveled looking Louis. 

Harry is positive he is currently gaping, and he's unable to utter a word.

“Can I come in?” Louis says, when it is clear that Harry isn't going to say anything. 

Harry steps aside, still speechless, and Louis hesitantly stands in the middle of the living room, hands digging in the pockets of his black jacket. He looks rather flustered, eyes darting everywhere, ragged breaths leaving his mouth in heavy sighs.

“I need to talk to you. I… Can we sit for a second?” Louis looks at the sofa and then at Harry, as if waiting for permission to sit down.

“Yes.” Harry's voice is finally back, even if he isn't able to say anything else. He goes to sit on the far end of the sofa, crossing his legs and waiting for Louis to speak. 

Louis takes off his jacket and sits opposite Harry. He inhales deeply while staring at a point near Harry's feet.

“I'm sure you noticed my short absence last night,” he begins, fingers tangled together on his lap, “I was with Liam.”

“That much I figured,” Harry replies dryly, wanting Louis to look him in the eye. But Louis continues to stare everywhere but at Harry's face.

“Yeah, well it's not what you think. We were having an argument. He was annoyed that you were there.” Harry makes a disbelieving noise at that, but Louis continues, “He can be very possessive, apparently, and he didn't like the way you were looking at me. Which is completely ridiculous, I know, because he’s not my boyfriend. I was rather pissed at him, but he just wouldn't stop bothering me and let me come back to the reception. He had to leave eventually, since he had work this morning.” Louis raises his head finally, locking his eyes with Harry's. 

Harry doesn't say anything, waiting to see if Louis has something to add. He's surprised that Louis came all the way to his flat to talk about what happened between him and Liam the night before. 

Louis seems to be pondering something in his head, and then he starts talking again.

“I went to see him earlier, and we talked about some stuff. I told him I only love him as a friend Harry. I don't want to be with him. I can't be with him.” Louis' voice trembles a little, but he keeps talking, now in a lower tone, “I thought it would go away eventually, but it didn't.”

Harry is openly confused now.

“What are you talking about, Louis?”

“I'm talking about you.” Louis is struggling to get the words out, his features scrunched up in an almost pained expression. “It never went away, what I felt for you. Even after a bloody year, I can't seem to get over you. And it makes me so angry.” 

Harry's head is spinning. 

“What makes you angry?” he asks, voice faint.

“You, always you. You have this power over me, to not make me think straight. I thought I did the right thing, letting you go. I was so sure we would be better off that way, or I would've never left you. But it didn't work. Not for me at least. I still miss you everyday, Harry.” Louis is looking at him with a mix of hope and fear. 

Harry still isn't sure he’s heard correctly. Is Louis telling him he wants to get back with him? He doesn't understand.

“I don't understand,” he croaks, heart caught in his throat. 

“I know, it makes perfect sense. I know a part of you hates me...” Louis trails off as Harry vigorously shakes his head, “A part of you hates me because I gave up on us. But I had no idea what else I could do to make it better. I know you can't forgive me – I wouldn't forgive myself either. But is there even a tiny possibility that you would consider trying to work things out?” Louis is quick to add, “You don't have to say anything right now,” when he sees Harry open his mouth to say something. “Please, I don't want to put any pressure on you. You have all the time in the world to think about this. I am not going anywhere.”

“But the divorce...” Harry starts, feeling lightheaded and unable to form a coherent thought.

“I never filed for a divorce,” Louis answers.

“What?” Harry almost yells, gobsmacked. He can't believe his ears. 

“No, I never formally asked to divorce you. The separation is still reversible.”

Harry in suddenly aware of his wet cheeks, his whole body shaking while his mind is swamped with a whirlwind of emotions. 

He has spent months and months dreaming about Louis coming back to him, Louis asking him to get back together, saying he was so stupid to leave him in the first place. He spent so much time fantasising about having their old life back. Yet, in this moment, when the real Louis, and not a figment of his imagination, is in front of him saying he wants to try to be with Harry again, Harry finds himself unable to form a response. Louis doesn't want him to say anything yet, apparently, but Harry wouldn't be able to articulate a single word regardless. 

Harry is utterly terrified. He feels almost paralysed with it, fear vaulting into his brain. He realises he is crying harder now, sobbing unashamedly. Louis' face visibly crumples, and after a moment he starts crying too. They are still on opposite ends of the sofa, but Harry can't stand this distance anymore. He basically throws his body on top of Louis', and Louis catches him while falling on his back. Louis holds him close, carding a hand through Harry's hair, trying to soothe him, even if he is still weeping too.

“I miss you so much,” Harry wheezes between sobs, and Louis shushes him, whispering in his ear.

“Hush babe, don't speak. You don't have to say a thing; you have all the time in the world to think about this. I swear I'm not going anywhere.” 

Harry keeps crying softly into Louis' shirt, until his tears wane and he feels so tired his eyes are drooping. He feels Louis' warm hand caressing his back. Harry's heartbeat slows, and he eventually dozes off, still in Louis' embrace. 

Harry is hoisted up from the sofa, mostly still asleep. Louis manages to half guide, half carry him to his bed. Harry feels Louis tucking him in, even if his eyelids feel so heavy he can't open his eyes.

“Are you going?” Harry whispers.

“Yes, I have to go. I'll see you soon, don't worry.” Louis is stroking Harry's cheek, and he is so close Harry feels the scent of his breath flooding his nostrils.

“Mmh, mmh,” is all Harry replies. 

Louis kisses him, a quick peck on the lips, and then Harry hears him leave. He falls back to sleep at once. 

*

“Did Louis spend the night here?” Zayn corners him just as Harry gets in from work.

“No, he didn't. Why?” Harry takes off his coat and starts to fix himself some dinner; he is starving.

“When I got back last night I bumped into him,” Zayn answers, unimpressed.

“Yes, he was here last night. We talked.” Harry shrugs.

“And you think you can just give me a reply like that without elaborating?” Zayn replies sternly. Harry starts to talk while he cooks pasta for the both of them. 

After Harry has explained in great detail what Louis had said to him the night before, and how Harry had reacted, Zayn tries to help him make sense of it all. 

“Well, it's perfectly understandable that you didn't say yes right away.” Harry nods in agreement, and Zayn continues, “When he left you, you were literally shattered to pieces. It took you months and months to get it together; I was there every step of the way. And I've witnessed first hand what this separation has put you through. So it’s only normal that you have to think about it a hundred times before you say yes to giving it another shot,” Zayn finishes, while rolling a cigarette on the kitchen table.

“You're right, I have to think about it properly. But I feel like we have so many things we still need to talk about, before I make a decision. Last night was emotionally draining, but I have to see him again.” 

“Just call him, Harry. Do it for real, this time. Don't say yes and then procrastinate. He came to you last night, he made the first step. Just cut him some slack now, yeah?”

Zayn is right. Again. 

As Zayn goes to have a smoke on the balcony, Harry grabs his phone and quickly types a text to Louis. 

_Come over tonight? X_

Louis' reply arrives after mere seconds.

_Yes. I'll be there in a bit. X_

“By the way, how was your date?” Harry inquires when Zayn is back from his smoke.

“Oh, fabulous. My promotion is just around the corner, I'm sure,” Zayn replies with a shit-eating grin on his face.

“You're the worst,” Harry snorts, smiling, trying to stave off his nerves about Louis coming over.

“In fact, I'm going to grab a drink with her tonight. So you and Louis can talk in peace.” Zayn wiggles his eyebrows.

“Well, now that I think of it, you're the best.” Harry says, as Zayn shoves him playfully. 

Harry busies himself with the dishes, while Zayn gets ready for his date. Louis arrives ten minutes later, just as Zayn is putting his jacket on.

“Hey mate,” Louis greets him.

“Hi Louis. I'm out. See you later!” Zayn almost runs out of the door, and Louis watches him go with an amused expression.

“He has a date,” Harry explains matter-of-factly. “Want some tea?”

Harry sets the pot of tea on the table, and takes a seat in front of Louis. He grabs his mug and fills it, and then cradles it with both hands while Louis follows suit. “So...” he starts.

“So.” Louis looks nervous and slightly embarrassed, but his eyes are honest as he observes Harry through the steamy air.

“I think we have some serious talking to do, and we have to be completely honest with each other.” Harry doesn't know where this sudden confidence is coming from, but he doesn't let it go to waste. 

“Yes, I completely agree,” Louis replies, now looking considerably more collected than he had when he arrived. “Where do you want me to start from?”

“Well, from the beginning if you can. I want to know everything. Everything you never told me about us.” Harry's voice quavers a bit, “What really made you decide to leave me? I know we've talked about this before, but I still feel like I haven't been given a proper explanation, or maybe I just couldn't really understand your motives.”

“Ok...” Louis appears to be mentally collecting his thoughts, before he converts them into words that start flowing from his mouth. “Although I was the one making the final decision, it felt like you had already left me a long time before that. You would go silent every time something went wrong, you would give me stern looks every time I was happy for something I had achieved. 

“I knew you were suffering because of your work situation, the failed deal with the publication, the rejection from the PGCE course. But I probably didn't understand how much that was affecting your mental health at the time. I just watched my husband becoming more miserable everyday, unable to show even a little bit of satisfaction with his life. I couldn't stand it; I felt so hurt. 

“And I know now that I am an utter idiot, that I probably acted like the most selfish person on earth. I decided to take the easy way out. It hurt so much to leave you, to let you go, but I did it with what I thought was good intention. I was so wrapped up in myself that I thought the reason why you were unhappy was because you couldn't stand to see me succeed whilst you felt like you were failing. And that made me think you didn't really love me anymore, so I saw ending it as the best solution for the both of us. 

“I still loved you so much though. Leaving you was the hardest decision of my life, and I was so utterly foolish to believe I was doing the right thing. At the time I thought there was no other way out. 

“And when I heard from Zayn and Niall that you were doing better, at first I believed it was a confirmation that I had indeed made the right decision. And I will never, ever forgive myself for that. I should've helped you, Harry, instead of abandoning you. I was such a coward, and I will totally understand you if you say you can't forgive me. But you have a right to know that, even if I tried really hard to get over you, I failed spectacularly.”

After his speech, Louis' shoulders sag and he looks as deflated and tired as ever. But his expression is firm, dark blue eyes trained on Harry's. 

Harry's mouth has gone completely dry. He is astonished, rigid like a statue. It seems that an hour passes, in which the two of them do nothing but stare at each other. A few tears escape Louis' eyes, his composure vacillating.

“Please, Harry, say something,” he murmurs brokenly.

“I love you so much,” Harry breathes, and Louis starts to cry properly, bringing a hand to cover his face. “I was so broken when you left me. I wasn't alright, and I thought I was never going to be alright again. You have no idea how I felt, you have _no_ idea. It took me so much to sort myself out. I was afraid I'd end up killing myself.” Louis is openly sobbing, body trembling and face pressed into his hands, muffled noises escaping his mouth. 

Harry continues, “It was the worst time of my life. But luckily, just when I was about to completely lose control and do something that could really put me in danger, I found the strength to snap out of it. I slowly started to recover. I tried so hard to fix myself, Louis. But it was the same for me. It never went away. What I felt for you never ceased to be the biggest part of my heart, the biggest part of who I am. I don't know what it's like to not love you, but I know what it feels like to lose you. That's why I was so scared last night, I'm still scared shitless, Louis. I don't know if I could survive if you ever left me again, _you have to be sure_. I need to trust you again, without any reservations, like I did before. It's not going to be easy. I can't risk losing you again. I can't.”

Harry is crying too, again. He thought he was done crying after all the tears he had shed during the past year, but it seems he was wrong. He isn't sobbing like Louis; Harry's tears stream silently down his cheeks. Louis abruptly stands and Harry copies him. They meet in the middle, their bodies crashing together in a fierce hug. Harry's arms tighten around Louis' shoulders, Louis' hands flush against Harry's chest. They hold each other like that, Louis' sobs gradually subsiding, until he is just sniffling with his face buried in Harry's neck. Then Louis raises his head, gently touching Harry's face with both his hands. 

“I love you, too. I never stopped.” Louis is kissing him then, his mouth wet and hot. He pushes Harry's body backwards until his lower back is plastered to the kitchen table, Louis' lips prying at his, demanding entrance. Harry opens his mouth, and Louis' tongue at once eagerly thrusts into it. 

This isn't anything like the night in Louis' car, Harry thinks. That night had felt like a desperate attempt to momentarily get back what they had once had, to vainly renew their claim on each other's bodies. They were driven by lust, sexual tension and their unresolved, impetuous feelings. This time though, even if Louis' mouth and hands are just as insistent, it feels like something else entirely. 

Harry is already panting, his heart feeling like it is about to bounce from his chest. He is kissing Louis with just as much intensity, biting at his lower lip, eliciting low moans to escape from his mouth. He grabs Louis' ass and squeezes hard, pressing their crotches together. Louis moans and starts to kiss and bite at Harry's neck, his jaw, lowering his head to lick at the point between his jawline and ear. Harry feels goosebumps bloom on every inch of his skin, his whole body tingling with an overwhelming sensation of arousal. 

“Bed, please,” he huffs, when Louis's hands start tugging at his jumper.

“Yeah, fuck,” Louis groans in response, lifting his weight from Harry's body and guiding him the few paces to his bedroom. 

Louis throws himself onto the unmade bed, frantically undressing until he is only in his pants. Harry takes off his own clothes, and then gets on his knees in front of Louis. He starts to nuzzle Louis' groin, mouthing at his cock through the cotton, licking over the wet patch of pre-come. He finally takes off Louis' pants, the head of Louis' cock grazing just below his navel. Harry starts to kiss Louis' tummy, biting and licking, relishing the taste of Louis' skin. It's almost exhilarating to be able to do this again, and Harry shamelessly inhales, nose buried in Louis' pubic hair. 

Louis' breathing is ragged and heavy, and before Harry can properly take him in his mouth, Louis is urging him up, dragging him onto the bed to rest on top of him.

“I need you up here,” Louis mutters, voice low, before he resumes his attack on Harry's lips. Louis pulls at his hair, moaning wantonly into his mouth, thighs wrapping around Harry's middle. 

“Take them off,” Louis says urgently, when the fabric of Harry's pants drags over Louis’ exposed dick. Harry complies, shucking off his underwear as quickly as possible, instantly repositioning his body on top of Louis'. 

They both moan loudly when their cocks brush together, Harry feeling his lower stomach already burning, blazing waves of arousal shooting through his spine. He isn't able to form any coherent thought from then onwards, mind completely overflown with desire. He stops kissing Louis only for the time it takes for him to cover his own hand with saliva, and then he grabs both their cocks in one hand, starting to get them off at the same time. 

Louis is writhing beneath Harry, fucking into Harry's fist, their cocks sliding wetly together. It doesn't take long before Louis' body stills and he is coming all over Harry's hand, loud breathy moans erupting from his throat. Louis' body slumps into the mattress, his arms rising to circle around Harry's neck and bring his face down for a crushing kiss, whilst Harry finishes himself off. 

Harry lies on his back next to Louis, ragged pants slowly returning to normal breathing. When he feels like talking again, he notices Louis is lying on his side, head propped up on Harry's shoulder.

“I’ve missed this so much,” Harry says, lips parted in a timid smile. When he properly turns his head though, a huge grin threatens to split his face in two. Louis is staring at him with a soft expression, eyes glassy and sincere. He smiles too when he sees Harry's face, almost beaming.

“Me too. I missed your body,” Louis replies, punctuating his words with a squeeze of Harry's hip.

“You mean my perfect cock.”

“I missed your cheek, too, you idiot,” Louis says faux indignant, head leaning up to kiss Harry's smile. Their teeth clash a bit at first, but then Harry's lips part to let Louis' tongue enter. They kiss lazily for a few more minutes, both tired and content. 

After a while, they hear Zayn coming in through the front door, but neither of them bother to say anything. Harry can feel Louis's breathing even out, heartbeat slowing, until he is sure he's fallen asleep. Before he dozes off too, Harry thinks about the photograph in his journal.

*

Harry and Louis don't see each other for two days after their night together. They are both busy, Harry's shifts at the hotel long and tiring. He even has to attend a few interviews. When he finally receives what he was waiting for, he immediately calls Louis.

“I need to tell you something,” Harry states brightly into the receiver.

“What happened?” Louis' tone is almost concerned.

“Oh nothing to be worried of. But I’ve got to see you!”

“If you're free tonight, I could take you out to dinner?” Harry can hear Louis' smile on the other end of the line.

“Of course! Can’t wait to see you!”

Louis texts him to tell him he will be picking him up at seven o'clock. Harry takes longer than he usually would to get ready for his date with Louis; after all, this is the first time he’s properly gone out with someone in almost a year. The small detail that he's actually going out with his maybe-not-former husband doesn't change the fact that, for all intents and purposes, it's a first date. So he wears his skinniest black jeans, a sheer burgundy shirt and a black leather jacket. He also steals Zayn's manly cologne, just because. 

“Aw, look at you,” Zayn coos, “All nervous for your first date. It's not like he hasn't licked your arsehole before,” he adds, sniggering.

“Kindly fuck off, Zayn. Tonight's important, you know it,” Harry scolds him, but he knows Zayn is only teasing him. Zayn was a bit wary at first when Harry had told him about the conversation he and Louis had had that night, but now he seems to be glad that Harry looks happy again. 

At seven sharp, their doorbell rings. Harry skids to answer, wondering why Louis hadn't simply texted him telling him to go downstairs. He opens the door and Louis' head is hidden behind a huge bunch of flowers. Harry gapes, Louis' smiling face emerging from one side.

“These are for you.” He shoves the bunch into the hands of a stupefied Harry.

“You didn't have to… Wow, these are beautiful!” Harry observes the flowers, white and purple lilies. They smell lovely, and he goes to find a vase in the kitchen.

Zayn shuffles out from his room, abruptly stopping in his tracks when he sees the massive bouquet in Harry's hands.

“Hi Louis,” he greets, expression amused, “Why are you already spoiling him? You'll never get rid of him now.”

“I hope so,” Louis chuckles, and then blushes when he realises what he just said. “Oh god, I've already gone back to being a fucking sap.”

“Zayn, shut up. And put some water in here, not too much. We’ve gotta go.” Harry sets the vase with the lilies in the centre of the table, admires it for a few seconds and then grabs his jacket and keys. 

“Yes, sir,” Zayn mocks.

Before Louis starts the engine, Harry gives him a languid kiss, stroking the hair at the nape of his neck. “The flowers were lovely, thank you.”

Louis has chosen a small, quaint restaurant just north of the M25. They take their seats and place their order, Harry eager to try their _tartare_. Louis insists they order the most expensive red wine on the menu, disregarding Harry's protests.

“Tonight's special,” Louis affirms, clinking Harry's glass. 

“Yeah it is. Actually, um,” Harry stutters, suddenly anxious, “I kind of have an announcement,” he says shyly, gaze lowered on the table.

“Tell me already, you're making me nervous,” Louis grabs his hand, thumb caressing Harry's palm.

“In the past few months, I've been applying to various PGCEs and training courses. I didn't want to get my hopes up at the beginning, but I actually got called for a few interviews.” Louis is staring at him expectantly. Harry inhales deeply before continuing. “I got onto UCL's teacher training course,” he says in one breath. 

Louis positively beams in response, immediately refilling their glasses.

“That’s wonderful, Harry! I'm so happy for you – congratulations!” He raises his glass to Harry. 

“Thanks, I'm still trying to wrap my head around it. It still feels like a dream, to be honest.”

Louis is staring at him, smiling unabashedly, and Harry almost wants to shrink under his scrutiny. He doesn't know why he’s still so nervous, even shaking a bit. Louis brings Harry's hand to his mouth and plasters a kiss on the back of it, “I'm so proud of you, babe.”

Harry relaxes a bit, taking a few more sips from his wine. It turns out the _tartare_ is delicious, and he and Louis eat in a comfortable silence for a few minutes.

“I'm thinking of moving out,” Louis says, apropos of nothing, while they are waiting for their desserts. “I've been thinking about it for a while, actually. That house is too old, and it probably holds too many bad memories.” Louis' tone is candid, and Harry feels taken aback by this sudden display of sincerity. 

“Have you seen any places you like yet?”

“Yes, actually, I think I may have already made a choice. I was wondering if you wanted to maybe, I don't know, give me your opinion. It would mean a lot to me.” Harry is even more surprised now. Louis is feigning a casual tone, but the implications of his words are pretty clear.

“Yes, of course,” Harry replies gingerly, but it's obvious Louis senses his discomfort.

“I'm not asking you to move back in with me, Harry. I'm well aware that it is definitely too soon to even think about it, don't worry. I’m just saying that I value your opinion very much.”

Harry can't conceal his relieved sigh. 

Their desserts arrive, and Harry bites into his chocolate fudge cake, almost moaning at how good it tastes.

“How are you going to pay for your PGCE?” Louis enquires.

“Well, I'm saving up at the moment. I probably won't be able to pay rent for a year though; Zayn will be ecstatic,” he chuckles, although he notices Louis' darkened expression. “And I'll have to apply for a loan nonetheless, and find a second job. I'm going to nail it.” He hopes the sarcasm in his tone wasn't too obvious.

“I could...” Louis begins, but Harry immediately cuts him off.

“Don't even think about it. I've already said no to my mum and Robin. Even my dad offered to help, but they all received no for an answer. I'm gonna do this by myself.”

“But it's only a year, and I know perfectly well how crazy expensive those courses are. Your bank account will be drained, and then you'll have to pay back the loan at an insanely high rate interest.”

“I know all of this perfectly well, thank you.”

“Ok, ok, no need to be sassy. I just want to understand why you are trying so actively to sabotage your financial resources.” 

Harry’s finished his chocolate fudge cake, and it really had tasted heavenly. He takes a moment before offering Louis a response, wiping at his mouth with his napkin.

“I want to be independent, I want to be my own person. I can't keep living off of other's favours. I don't need any help, Louis. I'm gonna be perfectly fine,” Harry states, not taking his eyes off Louis'. He knows what he just said is only the partial truth, but it is true nonetheless. He wants to do this on his own to prove to himself that, Louis or no Louis, Harry can be the master of his own fate. He must do this, especially if he and Louis are serious about getting back together. He can't risk going back to his old ways, when he used to lean on other people, always seeking help from Louis or his family. And he was joking about not paying rent; he'll actually have to find a way to pay for that too.

Louis doesn't press the matter any further, and Harry is again feeling at ease. He really missed Louis' company, his silly banter and funny anecdotes. When they've paid the bill, Harry protesting to no avail when Louis refused to split it, they drive aimlessly around the countryside. Louis obnoxiously sings along to the radio, and Harry can't stop giggling.

Completely by chance, they end up driving to the top of a hill, from where they have a panoramic view. They sit in silence for a while, Louis's hand on Harry's thigh, mindlessly drawing circles.

“This place is rather romantic,” Harry sighs, turning his head towards Louis. His stomach flutters when he realises that Louis was already watching him intently, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Yes, I'm such a gentleman.” His hand travels a bit further up Harry's thigh, “Can I give you a blowjob now?”

Harry huffs disbelievingly. “You really know how to ruin the moment,” he chides, but his lips curve up into a smug grin. “Kiss me a bit first?” He leans towards Louis, who immediately opens his mouth to welcome Harry's tongue. He feels Louis' hand massaging his dick through the fabric of his jeans, and then he is fumbling with his zip. Harry lifts his bum off the seat so that Louis can lower his trousers and pants, peeling them off his thighs. Definitely too tight for a car situation, he decides.

Louis ducks his head down, while Harry tries to slide a bit forward on the car seat, trying to make himself comfortable. Louis doesn't tease him, immediately swallowing down most of Harry's length. He sucks him off eagerly, right hand kneading Harry's balls. Harry is already panting, cock throbbing in Louis' hot mouth, dribbling pre-come that mixes up with Louis' saliva. Louis removes his mouth for a second, continuing to stroke him with one hand. Harry isn't going to last much longer.

“I'm close,” he chokes out, hips bucking up involuntarily. Louis plants his hand on Harry's hip, pushing him against the seat. “Sorry,” Harry mumbles. 

“Don't be sorry. I want you to come down my throat,” Louis croaks, voice raspy. He starts to deep-throat him, tongue swirling around Harry's shaft.

Harry is coming in Louis' mouth a minute later, vision going white for a moment, his head thrown back. He grunts, feeling his cock pulse against Louis' tongue. Louis has swallowed most of his come, a few drops trickling down his bottom lip. Harry immediately kisses him avidly, eager to taste himself on Louis' tongue. 

“You like to be filthy, don't you,” Louis pants, obviously quite worked up already. 

Harry is quick to reciprocate. Louis massages his scalp while Harry blows him, and in only a few minutes Louis is shaking with his orgasm, pulling Harry's head up just as he is shooting his load. Some of his come smears Harry's chin and mouth.

“You're proper filthy now,” Louis groans, dark pupils trained on Harry's face. They stare at each other for a second, until Harry starts to feel a bit uncomfortable in his current state. 

“Sorry, babe,” Louis says, “Here,” producing a pack of baby wipes from the glovebox, and wiping the come off Harry's face. “There you go,” Louis says, flashing Harry a warm smile.

Later, when Harry is alone in his bed, he isn't able to fall asleep for a long time, reliving the date with Louis in his head, over and over again. 

*

It's Friday when Louis brings Harry to see the flat he is planning to rent. It's near Belsize Park, pretty close to the hotel Harry works at. Actually, it is somehow halfway between his work place and UCL's campus. It must be a coincidence though; when Louis had first seen the apartment, he hadn't yet known Harry would be going to UCL next year.

Despite the almost total lack of furniture, the flat looks quite homely. It has two bedrooms, a large dining room with a fireplace, and a rather small but functional kitchen. Harry immediately pictures himself cooking in there, wearing his favourite apron, while Louis scuttles around him, more distracting than helpful.

Louis is thrilled when he learns Harry really likes the place. He immediately signs off the papers, and secures the down payment, much to the delight of the estate agent.

Louis tells Harry he’s going to move his furniture during Easter weekend, but he categorically refuses to accept Harry's help.

“No, you stay in Cheshire until you have to get back for work. I forbid you to help me, you’ll see that flat again only once I've settled in. Plus, Liam’s going to give me a hand.”

Harry isn't too happy with that last sentence, but he tries to mask his jealousy. They've talked about it, and Louis doesn't want to end his friendship with Liam. Harry hasn't asked him to, obviously, but it’s clear he doesn't feel too comfortable about Louis spending time with Liam, knowing Liam is essentially in love with him.

Harry spends Easter weekend with his family in Holmes Chapel. Gemma and Niall are on their honeymoon in Greece, so it’s only Harry, his mum and Robin. He misses Louis a bit, but they talk everyday on the phone and exchange silly emojis before they go to sleep. Although he hadn’t planned to tell his mum anything about their reconciliation yet, Anne often comments about his good spirits. Harry thinks she may have already guessed the cause of them. 

Harry returns to London Monday evening and he is loaded with work until Saturday night. 

On Sunday, he and Louis finally manage to go out. It feels so strange to be yet again so nervous about seeing Louis. Even if they've been together for so long before, Harry feels like a teenager on his third date. 

They meet up in a pub near Harry's flat. The air is warm, night sky clear and cloudless. Harry feels excitement stemming from his every pore, anticipation making his body feel weightless, despite the last six days of long shifts at the hotel. Louis latches their mouths together in a brief kiss before they enter the pub, his hand lingering on the small of Harry's back as they settle at a table in a corner. 

Louis goes to buy them two pints, and Harry observes him from afar. He watches as Louis leans against the counter, and Harry feels overwhelmed by how much he wants him. He is still ogling as Louis makes his way back, and Louis smiles at him knowingly.

“Stop staring at my ass,” he teases Harry, setting their pints on the table.

“C'mon, you know it's impossible.” Harry doesn't feel embarrassed at all. “So, are you officially staying at your new flat?”

“Yes, since last night. I still have to adjust a few things, but I have everything I need. It's lovely, I can't wait to show you how we decorated it.”

“Right. Liam helped you move out, then?” Harry says, trying to keep his tone neutral.

“Yes, it was really kind of him.”

“Yeah, I can imagine,” Harry replies absently, his thumb drawing circles in the condensation of his glass.

“Harry, we've already talked about this. Liam is just a friend now.”

“Yeah, I know. But he has feelings for you, doesn't he?”

“He does, but I don't have feelings for him. So you don't have to worry about him. He assured me he is fine with it. I asked him if he wanted to, like, not see each other as often. But he is still working as personal trainer for a lot of my patients, so we can't really avoid each other. It's going to be fine,” Louis says with confidence. 

“You're right, I'm sorry. It's just that – I saw the way he looked at you, at the wedding, and I am still a bit jealous of him. I know it's stupid, but I can't help it.” Harry doesn't even know what has actually happened between Louis and Liam, whether their relationship had been platonic or not. 

“Harry,” Louis starts, tone serious and eyes burning a hole in Harry's skull, “I care about him only as a friend, I promise you. You're the only one that I want, and nothing's ever going to change that. I will do anything you ask me to make you believe it.”

“I believe you,” Harry states, and he really does. He can see it in the way Louis looks at him, he can feel it from the way he kisses him, sometimes so fervently it seems like Louis wants to devour him, sometimes his lips so slow and sweet, as if they have all the time in the world to just enjoy what they have to offer to each other.

At half past eleven, after the pub has closed, they find themselves standing on the pavement outside its entrance. They connect in a long embrace, swaying a bit from side to side, Louis' face buried in the curve of Harry's neck. Louis is fidgeting with his hands though, squeezing Harry's hips through the fabric of his shirt.

“Babe,” he mutters against Harry's skin.

Harry hums in response, drawing Louis' body even closer to his.

“Do you want to come back to mine?” Louis asks, voice quivering, his face still hidden.

Harry's breath hitches, heart hammering in his throat. It takes him a moment to formulate an answer, but he doesn't see any reason why he should say no.

“Yeah,” he grabs Louis' cheeks and urges him to look up. Louis' eyes are wide like saucers, his expression open and vulnerable. “I really, really want to.”

Louis leads Harry through the front door, switching on the lights. He takes off his shoes, and Harry does the same, placing his boots neatly next to Louis' trainers. He takes a moment to properly look at his surroundings then, his mouth gaping. 

The place looks quite different now. In the centre of the room sits a vase of yellow flowers on a large dining table, six wooden chairs surrounding it. A burgundy leather chaise longue occupies one wall, overlooked by a large central window; next to it, a tall bookcase, still half empty. On the opposite side of the room is the chimney, a modern painting hung above the mantelpiece, adding warm hues of orange and red to the otherwise white room.

“This place is stunning,” Harry says, in awe.

“Wait 'till you see my bedroom,” Louis says cheekily. He grabs Harry's hand and guides him through the narrow hall. 

The master bedroom is rather big; Louis brags about his new king sized bed, and Harry can't help the grin that takes over his face.

“It almost looks like you're trying to lure me in between your sheets,” he jokes, and Louis replies with an impudent smirk.

They move to the second bedroom, that looks more like a studio. There is a small bed below the window in a corner, an empty bookcase and a large writing desk. Harry had spent many months bent over the same desk while he was writing his thesis.

“I remember this,” he mumbles, examining the desk, pressing his hands on top of the cool wood. His eyes are caught by a small, square object tucked in one corner. He takes it in his hands and flips it over; it is a frame. Harry's eyes gawk when he recognizes the picture it contains, the same photo he has kept in his journal for so many years.

“Oh, my God.” Harry feels his heart beat fast, hands trembling as he turns to look at Louis. “I didn't know you had this photo.”

Louis is watching him carefully. He takes a few steps towards Harry.

“It was one of the first pictures we took together. I asked your mum for a copy, like, six years ago.” He's smiling sheepishly, eyes trained on the frame in Harry's hands. “How's that tree, by the way? I hope it still looks as beautiful as it did then?”

“Yeah,” Harry says feebly, not trusting his voice, “It's still breathtaking during the summer.”

Louis is at his side then, grabbing Harry's elbows in his hands.

“Harry, I know it's still way too soon, but I want you to know that while I was moving here I couldn't stop thinking about you. I imagined you in every room of this house; I saw your figure in every corner. But I especially pictured you here, spending hours studying at your desk, me bringing you steaming cups of Earl Grey, helping you revise.” 

Harry is hooked by Louis' gaze, body impossibly still.

“If you'll still want to be with me next year, I'd really love for you to spend some time here. I’m not asking you to move in with me, you still can stay with Zayn, and come here whenever you want. You don't have to feel any pressure, babe. I just want you to be comfortable.” Louis' eyes are brimmed with hope, and he looks so fragile it almost causes Harry's heart to break.

“Of course I want you. I’ll want you next year, and every year after that. I'm not going to let you go again, and you are not allowed to let me go,” Harry whispers. “Ever.” 

Louis kisses him with force. Harry manages to put the frame back on the desk, before he grips Louis' thighs and wraps them around his middle. He carries Louis to the bed and gently lowers him on top of the duvet, but before he can settle on top of him, Louis flips them over and straddles Harry's waist. 

“Wait, wait a second,” Harry pants. His mind feels clogged, a vortex of emotions clouding it.

“What?” Louis asks, while he bites at Harry's neck.

“Slow down,” Harry urges, extracting himself from underneath Louis' body. He feels giddy, a feeling of anticipation inundating his whole body. “Can we go to the other room?”

“Yeah, ok,” Louis agrees, instantly standing up and striding to his bedroom, Harry in tow.

“You couldn't resist my king sized bed, eh?” He teases, pushing Harry down. Harry huffs impatiently, and Louis positions himself between his thighs and starts nibbling at the exposed skin of his neck.

“Louis,” Harry whines.

“Yes, baby. Tell me what you need,” Louis pants, his hot breath hitting Harry's ear and making him shiver.

“I need you, I need you.” Harry already feels helpless, his whole body going slack as Louis unlatches his mouth from his neck and stares down at him with blown pupils. 

“How do you need me?” Louis asks seriously, his fingers running through Harry's curls. 

“I need you inside of me, please.” Harry's voice sounds broken.

“Fuck, I want it so much, babe.” Louis throws his head down, strands of his soft hair brushing Harry's cheeks. “But I want you, too. I need you.”

Harry groans, as he grabs Louis' jaw firmly and drags him down, kissing him ruthlessly. Louis bites his lips until they sting, the two of them rutting desperately against each other. 

“Let's get naked before we come in our pants,” Louis says, and they quickly undress, carelessly throwing their clothes onto the floor.

Louis lowers himself until he clutches his hands under Harry's knees, spreading them wide open.

“There's lube in the first drawer,” he breathes, massaging Harry's inner thighs before he sinks his teeth into Harry's soft flesh. Harry moans loudly, but he manages to grab the lube from the nightstand and toss it onto the sheets next to Louis.

Louis starts kissing his butt cheeks until he reaches Harry's hole, already clenching around nothing. He licks a stripe from his hole to his balls, and Harry's whole body shivers. Louis starts to lick and suck Harry's rim, producing wet noises that make Harry's head spin more than the burning sensation in his lower abdomen. 

Louis quickly adds a finger to his tongue, both nudging into Harry's tight hole. Louis blindly finds the bottle of lube on the covers, and Harry feels the cold gel hit his heated skin. Louis puts in a second finger, fucking in and out faster. Harry's rim slowly loosens, until Louis is able to add a third finger and Harry feels a sharp gust of pleasure shooting down his spine.

“Yes, yes,” he cries out, Louis still prodding at his prostate. 

“Don't come yet, love,” Louis instructs. 

Suddenly, Harry's body is empty, and he whines at the loss of contact. He finds the strength to rise onto his elbows, and he is rewarded with the view of Louis fingering himself. Breathy moans escape Louis’ mouth, his eyes dark and eyelids drooping in pleasure. Harry ducks down to lick the head of his cock, the salty taste of pre-come on the tip of his tongue. 

After a minute, Louis is pushing him onto his back again, hands on Harry’s ankles as he spreads his legs. He leans towards the nightstand, extracting a few condoms from a drawer. Harry makes a low, protesting sound.

“Baby, we need to,” says Louis.

“I'm clean, I swear,” Harry tries, observing Louis. He looks so hot like that, his forehead slightly creased, hair already tousled and chest flushed, a pretty pink shade.

“Harry, we need to be sure –” 

“I'm sure, and I trust you.”

“Ok,” Louis agrees in the end, chucking the condoms back into the drawer. He scoots closer to Harry's body, sitting on his thighs. Harry lifts his bum, until he feels Louis' shaft resting in the crease between his cheeks. 

Louis grabs his own cock, nudging the head against Harry's entrance. His hand is shaking though, and his cock keeps sliding off to the side instead of going in.

“Oh God, sorry.”

“Hey, hey,” Harry grabs Louis' face and guides him down in a firm kiss, tongue exploring Louis' mouth until he feels him relax. “Baby, it's just me. You don't have to be nervous.”

He takes Louis' dick and positions it against his rim, successfully putting in its tip. He groans loudly when Louis starts pushing inside of him, his hole rigid for a second before it gives out and he adjusts to the sensation.

The back of Harry's thighs rests on Louis' shoulders, and Harry notices gladly that he is still quite flexible. Louis is staring at him, eyes flitting across every inch of his face. Harry is frozen still for a second, feeling overwhelmed, but then he starts to fidget, whining needily.

“I'm going to die if you don't move,” he pleads. Louis immediately draws out and pushes into him again, movement quickly speeding up to a fast, almost punishing pace. Every thrust punches a loud moan out of Harry's throat, the pleasure so intense he's starting to shake.

“Don't come,” Louis orders, and Harry frantically nods, incapable of uttering anything coherent.

When Louis' thrusts start to slow down, his chest heaving and glistening with sweat, he pulls out and carefully puts Harry's legs back on the bed. Harry's neglected cock lies on his belly, bright red and weakly twitching. Louis pours some lube on his hand and some on Harry's dick, and after he has fucked himself with his fingers for a few seconds, he straddles Harry's hips.

Louis sinks down on Harry's shaft in a painstakingly slow movement, trembling from head to toe. His body goes stiff for a second, and Harry grabs Louis' hips so tight he's sure he'll leave bruises. Louis takes both of Harry's wrists and pins them above Harry's head. He starts to move his body up and down, thighs visibly straining. 

Despite his stamina, Louis looks exhausted after a couple of minutes of riding Harry, and he crumples on top of his chest, panting furiously. Their bodies are wet, their sweat mingling between their feverish skin. Harry frees his hands from Louis' grip, and scratches a long line from Louis' shoulders to the curve of his bum; Louis hisses. Harry grabs a hold of Louis' arse cheeks, spreading them apart.

He starts to move, fucking up into Louis' pliant body. 

Muffled sounds escape from Louis' mouth, where it is pressed to Harry's collarbone. Now that he can set his own pace, Harry starts to feel the throb in his groin intensify. Louis shudders and digs his teeth into the skin of Harry's shoulder, and the sharp pain is enough to send Harry over the edge. 

Louis peppers his face with wet, open-mouthed kisses while Harry comes inside of him, and he attacks his mouth as soon as Harry's moans subside. Harry kisses him back vigorously, still feeling high with his orgasm. Louis slowly lifts himself, and Harry's cock, covered in come, slips out of Louis’ reddened hole. 

Harry grabs Louis' arse and drags him towards him, until the tip of his cock is hovering above Harry's open mouth. Louis gets himself off with fast strokes, coming all over Harry's tongue a minute later. Harry swallows all of it, licking some drops off his top lip.

While Louis cleans himself in the en-suite, Harry starts to feel a bit chilly, his naked body covered in goosebumps. He slides beneath the duvet, and when Louis emerges from the bathroom, he crawls next to him and tucks Harry's head under his arm, letting it rest on Louis’ chest. 

“Hey,” he says, tone soft.

“Hey,” Harry replies, smiling dreamily. He looks up to see Louis' clear blue eyes staring at him.

“I love you,” Louis whispers. Harry's ear is pressed to Louis' chest, and he feels his heartbeat speed up.

“I love you, too. Now sleep please.” Harry makes a show of shutting his eyes, but his face splits into a ridiculously huge grin.

Louis chuckles. He plants a kiss in Harry's hair and mindlessly strokes his arm, while Harry falls asleep in his arms.

*

They lie in the morning after; Louis has the day off and Harry has an afternoon shift. Harry is the first to wake up, and he decides he is too hungry to wait for Louis to open his eyes and cuddle. He gets up, has a quick shower, and busies himself in the kitchen.

It turns out Louis doesn't have much in his fridge, or kitchen cupboards, so Harry only makes some egg on toast. Louis is still sleeping when Harry finishes his breakfast, and Harry finds himself shuffling to the small studio bedroom. He sits down on the twin bed, observing the picture Louis has framed.

They look so young, and so, so in love. And Harry realizes that, despite the fact that Louis looks much different now, the way he looks at Harry is still the same. He may have more lines on his face, his cheekbones are probably more pronounced, and he has to shave every few days if he doesn't want to have a scruff on his chin and jaw, but his eyes still gleam like that when they are looking into Harry's. 

Harry is pulled out of his reverie when he hears Louis clearing his throat. Louis is observing him from the doorframe, lips curled up in a sweet smile.

“You really like that photo,” he says.

“Says the one who put it in a frame,” Harry teases. “I actually keep a copy of this in my old journal,” he continues in a more serious tone, “I used to look at it all the time, when I was alone. This photo is very important to me.”

“It's important to me, too.” Louis sits next to him on the bed, and gently removes the frame from Harry's grasp, taking it in his hands.

“I looked at it, and thought I was never going to be able to move on. I even Googled the name of the tree one night, in a bout of desperation,” he chuckles, training his eyes on Harry's. “Did you know some wisteria trees are believed to be immortal?”

Harry shakes his head.

“Yeah. It felt like adding insult to injury then. I was obsessing over a photo of us standing in front of a symbol of immortal love. How ironic. But I guess,” Louis pauses, his eyes almost hazy, “I thought it had to mean something. In that moment, I truly came to terms with the fact that I was never going to get over you. Ever.”

“There’s no need to get over me now, Louis. We're really serious about this, aren't we? I know we’re going to make this work.” 

“Does this mean I’m forgiven?”

“You’ve done nothing you need to be forgiven for,” Harry scoffs. “I trust you, Louis. I love you, and this time it’s forever.”

Harry knows that the past year has probably been one of the worst periods of his life. But right there and then, he is sure, more than ever before, that he and Louis belong together. And if they were able to find a way back into each other's lives after all that has happened in the past eleven months, he knows they will be able to make it through anything.

“Our love is going to be immortal, then,” Louis says with a sheepish smile. 

“Like the wisteria,” Harry adds half-jokingly.

“Yes, like the wisteria,” Louis repeats, and his tone is not mocking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I…can't believe I've finished this???  
> And, again, it is 2 a.m.  
> Thank you Maddie and all the girls from our groupchat, ilysm you are so important!  
> And thanks to anyone who has read, left kudos or a comment and whoever helped me and reblogged/liked the post for this fic on tumblr.
> 
> Come say hi to me on my tumblr, I'm [ louisgotpappedsnoggingt](http://louisgotpappedsnoggingt.tumblr.com/).  
> And if you feel especially kind please reblog the post for this fic [ here ](http://louisgotpappedsnoggingt.tumblr.com/tagged/aefm)

**Author's Note:**

> It was 2 am when I first finished writing this.  
> I'd like to thank James Bay and Ed Sheeran and whoever broke their heart repeatedly.  
> And sorry but I really had to name Harry's Great-Aunt Petunia!!!  
> Thank you so much!  
> If you liked this, please leave a kudo/comment, I appreciate any kind of feedback!  
> Say hi to me on my tumblr, [ embracedlouis](http://embracedlouis.tumblr.com/)and if you feel especially kind please reblog the post for this fic [ here ](http://embracedlouis.tumblr.com/post/132090270435/an-ever-fixed-mark-status-complete-words-33k) :) :) :)


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